In The Grave of Fireflies
by Equinoxxy
Summary: Her name wasn’t always Hotarubi Uchiha. Her world didn’t always have ninja, and it certainly never included killers running amock about her. She’d been prepared for eternity after her death— perhaps even a sense of peace. She can only grieve that the universe punishes her for her past life like this. Uchiha!SI-OC. Slow updates, new readers skip to the note, please!
1. Beginning Arc: Birth

Underlined Italics= words MC doesn't understand.

It's warm. The world around me is completely dark. I move my leg as best I can, but it barely moves. The dark warmth is calm and comforting, lulling me to sleep. Didn't I die? Is this hell? It seems far too mild to be so. Soon, my world fades back to black.

I hear voices.

They're muffled and unclear, but I hear them. It's like a distant humming, as though someone is singing. I take comfort in it, knowing that at least someone is nearby. I can sometimes feel soft, gentle touches on the warm walls, soothing strokes of what might be a hand. Perhaps I'm not so alone after all.

It's tight in here. Claustrophobic. The walls are squeezing me, the safe home I had grown accustomed to is now rejecting me, pushing me out. I kick and squirm, feeling something soft and slithery wrap around my neck and start choking me, making me panic as I kick harder. Am I going to die again?! I don't want to go down so easily this time around, so with my barely functional legs, I kick one more time before I finally burst free. The world burns my skin with the freezing cold, making me gasp against the choke hold around my neck, shivering insanely as I hear distant voices shouting. The thing on my neck is suddenly ripped away and I'm tossed and turned, doused in warm water and wrapped. What's going on?

I shiver again, hearing panicked voices and hushed tones. Is something wrong? That's a stupid question, actually- _everything_ is wrong right now. I can hardly move, I can't see bull unless it's right in front of my face, and it's kinda cold here. Coming from me, that's saying a lot.

I hear a few sobs as I'm manhandled by the insanely large hands into calm, soothing arms. I blink as hot tears drop onto my face, the blurred figure coming into my view. It's a woman, a smiling, happy, but crying one. Her beautiful, slim face is red with happiness and exhaustion, her raven black hair concealing us like a curtain. I... don't know what to do. I can hardly move my arms to comfort her if I could- why is she crying? Wait, why am I here? Wasn't I... dead?

"Hello, little one." She sobs, laughing a little as she sniffs, her tears brimming in her eyes but do not fall. That's... Japanese? "Hello, _my little... Hotaru. Do you like it, little lightning bug?" _She asks me, her thumb gently gliding over my cheek, holding me tenderly and close. I lean into her touch, a shaky breath shuddering out of my tired, cold body. I had never been touched do carefully, so lovingly before. I never felt quite so... Loved. I never felt so much love. Questions could be asked later, right now, all I want is to sleep and pray I never wake up. Perhaps this dream may never end.

I hope it doesn't.

Dreams are but dreams and nothing more. At some point or another, you wake up, even if you don't know it.

That's what it feels like to me.

I feel like I'm in an eternal dream, always awake, but always asleep. The days are a hazy, monotonous blur. I don't quite register anything; too caught up in slow, drunken thoughts that I gradually accept in my new, and admittedly frightening world. My vision gets better as the weeks progress, and I feel that soon I'll have the same sight limit as before. My body is more useable now, but I still wobble when I walk. Himetaru, my 'new mother', is adamant in stating that I'm growing insanely quick for my age of two years at seeing how I'm constantly walking around. I can't blame her for looking at me so nervously. I'm a weird baby.

I'm silent as the grave and constantly looking at something and am completely disinterested in human interaction. I only really listen to her, and don't see the point in impressing the few visitors we every get. I'm too busy studying the world around me. I've confirmed that I am, in fact, a baby in a new world. I don't quite understand how it _why,_ but it has made me reconsider my ramen shop and Buddhist monk joke that wasn't even really that funny and I might have jinxed. But still, it's happened and I haven't the slightest clue or means to change it. I'm the type that registers traumatic things slowly and just come to accord it after a while, and honestly, I've never been more glad for that fact.

My mother and I live in a shack, from what I can tell. A one-room house. Her small futon mattress is tucked away with a thin blanket in the left corner of the room, my manger-like box propped half an inch above the ground and filled with torn fabrics and a single, soft, fluffy pink towel. The kitchen is comprised of a small, Japanese fire pit with a pot hanging above it, dried rosemary and sage hanging on the walls in collective chunks. A washing bin for clothes sits in the right corner, and the mosquito net square window on that side of the room gives view to a hanging rack outside. The only thing remotely electronic is the small fridge, no bigger than a large cardboard box. Our house is completely wooden save for the little electricity outlet connected to the fridge, as well as the single fan in the middle of the cieling.

I feel bad for the woman since I, as a baby, seem to have made her hard life even worse. She hardly has anything. The least I can do is try to take care of myself. Especially when she has no one to take care of her.

She's pale and very, very sickly. Her face is sinking slowly every day, lips chapped and once beautiful, silky corvidesque locks a dull and harsh dark grey. Her skin crumbles under my touch, and I fear I will kill her if I do anything more. She hardly speaks to me, but she always smiles and pats my head lovingly. I try not to feel guilt.

Here I am, chubby and healthy, while she's all skin and bone. I wonder what her life was like before she was cursed with me? Maybe she had friends, a family. A dream. Now she has nothing.

Funny how alike we are.

It's my third birthday.

January here in the Land of Fire is taxing on my mother and myself. Our little garden full of vegetable greens and wildflowers that we relied on for food has wilted and fallen asleep for the winter. Mother is getting worse as the cold weather howls in the wind through our poorly barred window, coughs wracking her skeletal form. I can't take looking at her like this much more. I've decide to go out and dig up our savings under the loose floorboard to buy food.

"Haha-ue, I'm going out to buy food." I tell her in a quiet voice, sitting on my calves as I sit beside her bed prone form, gingerly pulling her thin blanket up more to her shoulders. She is covered in my baby rags as well as her old, beaten comforter blanket. Be back soon, alright, darling?" She says, my untrained ears only picking up snippets of her whispering sentence, but I understand enough and nod to her. Opening the creaking wooden door, I spare her one last glance before walking out.

As I walk through the little, clear, snowy path through the woods, I can't help but notice the stones. They stand upright, square as well. The ground before them is upturned individually, and whispers of engravings on the stones sometimes show with the shadows of the light and dead fireflies resting in the nooks.The graves surround the forest in our little house, each of them marked with at least one firefly. The fireflies always gather in our small section of land every summer and spring, but never leave in time to escape the cold and the death this place brings.

I feel it important to say that none of the villagers treat me very kindly, seeing me in rags and racoon-like bags under my eyes. Something that quite bothers me, considering that I live in Konoha, the 'nice' village. I discover that on my first venture out of the house for food, a quick and easy wakeup slap to the face called the Hokage monument. Minato's face has yet to be carved on it, and considering the high food prices and theif-wary shop owners, I can say with relative ease that I'm in the Third Shinobi World War era. I'm not quite sure how to handle it, I'm mostly just ignoring the fact that I'm in a _fictional world._ Okay, I'm actually having a bit of a panic attack. _Naruto?_ Of _all places?_ The manga and anime are great and everything, but I'm old enough and have seen enough fanfictions to know that this world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. I brush past that worry. I don't need things like that, all that matters is here and now.

I harden my resolve and walk a little faster with my purple and white feet on the bare ice, calloused soles gyrating off of the slick substance. Snow falls gently from the sky, flickering silver hues like white fireflies before landing on the ground and disappearing. I try my best to remember the way back home, taking note that we live near the place where people with black eyes and hair and pale skin roam. Perhaps this is the Uchiha district? I receive odd glances from civilians and ninja alike, shop keepers giving me wary eyes as I leave the district area. Now that I think of it, my mother looks a lot like an Uchiha. Perhaps I'm one, too? What do I look like?

I walk a little faster, tiny legs jogging through the growing inches of snow as the wind dies down to be almost nonexistent. The road from the Uchiha compound is bare of any apartments, but two minutes into walking through it, houses appear to have taken over the area. Konoha is very densely populated, and with the amount of houses on the street, it reminds me of Washington D.C. with all of the hustle and bustle. It's obvious to see that war is hitting the people, but all civilians seem fairly happy if you don't count grocery prices.

The shinobi I pass by have haunted eyes, unfocused steps and are not quite 'there.' I immediately pass by the convenience store and grocery store. They're both too expensive from what the signs say.

I wander for a bit until I reach a run down shop. The wooden planks at the top crisscross to read 'Lost Hand', a sign below it entitling it as an antique store. Cheap.

I go into the secondhand shop and immediately search for anything made of leather. Shinobi rarely use it and it's everywhere, so it's always cheap.

A bell rings at the desk as the door closes behind me, dust clumps raining down and up as I walk. Everything in here is made of old, suspiciously stained wood with shelves and desks clattered with miscellaneous items from rusty buckets to old, bloodstained shinobi medicine packs. A wall with surprisingly well-taken care of weapons sits behind the checkout counter. The weaponry has everything I could imagine being used in combat; swords, a gunbai, katana, tantō, kusarigama and many more. I think I even see a metal umbrella.

I manage to shake my eyes from the sharp, gleaming metals and search the shelves only to find a pair of old boots, I sniff them and immediately toss the back onto the shelf. Gross. Who the hell has feet that smell _that bad?_ An old satchel catches my eye, and I immediately probe it for anything that makes red bells ding in my (admittedly low) hygiene department. Other than the obviously loved outer shell, nothing seems to be wrong with it. I toss it upside down, trying to read the price tag on it. 350 ryo. Huh, what do you know. Finally something within my price range. And for a pretty big bag, too.

I haul the enormous bag over my tiny shoulders up to the cashier's counter, ringing the bell once. "Coming..." a muffled voice grumbles through a door surrounded by the weapons, followed by a crashing sound and a groan. I wait a bit impatiently, knowing that my mother is waiting back home as I rub my hands on my arms that feel colder than death to the touch. I glance around as I wait until my eyes catch on the tall mirror at the back of the shop reflecting my view. I'm a small, surprisingly skinny child. My skin is an unhealthy shade of grayish tan (perhaps it's permanent...) and my hair branches out in short spikes at the top, grey bangs framing my face before cascading down my back in long locks. I look surprisingly like Izuna, just with grey (not Kakashi grey- that crap is white) and silverish hues. The tips of my hair are white. I'm wearing a large white tunic to act as a makeshift dress.

My name doesn't suit me at all.

A bumbling and grumbling shop owner comes out from the door, hand cradling his head as if he had hit it on something. He's tall and muscular with generic brown hair and eyes, the signature tan of Konoha compliments his rugged look. His chestnut orbs look at me for a moment, seeming to evaluate me before he scoffs.

"What are they feeding kids these days?" He grumbles, slumping down onto his plastic, cushioned chair. He snatches the bag from the counter and looks at the price tag and then me, expectantly. "Leather." I reply to his question despite it's rhetorical status. I dig into the sewn-in pocket on the side of my off-white dress, pulling out one copper and three silver ryo.

The currency here works eerily similar to Japanese Yen. One ryo is worth about a dime in this world, thus making 350 ryo equal to about three dollars and fifty cents. Thankfully, under the guise of a confused toddler, I won't need to revise long division in my head for a while until I actually get money over the thousands. Otherwise, I can live on as I am for now.

The man raises an eyebrow but takes the coins, poking at them for a minute before shrugging and shoving open the register. "What do you even need this for, anyways?" He asks, taking the tag and ripping it off as he hands the bag to me. "Leather." I repeat, as though it will answer all of his questions. Leather is a good meat substitute if you boil it enough. I'll blame my lack of an elaborate response on my horrible vocabulary.

He stares at me blankly for a moment as I awkwardly shuffle my new bag (meal) into my tiny arms. He huffs and scratches the back of his head. "Not my problem..." He mumbles, disappearing into the back room once again.

With a quiet heave I gather the last of the crumpled bag and shove through the door with my shoulder.

The walk back gives me just a few more peculiar stares than before, courtesy of my awkwardly huge leather bag, but it is otherwise peaceful as I walk along the ice. Things are better in the Uchiha district, though their eyes (eerie things, sometimes I thought they even activated the sharingan) linger a little on me. I've got to give them credit- only a minority of my looks resembles them, and the further I walk back into the compound, it must become obvious to them that I'm a resident. I guess being a ninja clan makes you used to weird people within your family. I would have never guessed that Obito was an Uchiha if it wasn't for his last name. My situation is similar, I guess. Obito didn't have the personality to match, and I don't have the looks. Ever seen a tan Uchiha? I don't think so.

I walk among the graves with fireflies once again, taking a deep breath in as I prepare to open the door-

I halt.

I hear voices- more than just my mother's. It seems to be her and one other. Quietly, quietly, I breathe a shaky breath and reach for the handle, gingerly sliding the door open as I try to hear.

"Your situation is getting worse, Himiko." A man, tall and entirely Uchiha from the clan marking on the back of his shirt speaks. "The child must be compromised within a year. As the crypt keeper you may stay, but the Elders won't stand for it much longer if you keep the child away." He sniffs, and I see my mother, Himiko, glares at him with such intensity that I flinch. He reminds me of someone with his voice and his looks, but I can't know for certain until he turns around...

He sighs. "Come out, child."

Oops. Caught.

I tentatively creak open the door, stepping in a bit fearfully into my house. The man turns to face me and my heart skips a beat. _Fugaku Uchiha._

 **Panic.** What the hell is he here for!? I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Oh crap. No one gets this guy's attention unless you're a prodigy or you got put on his hit list.

What did I do (in this life or the other) to deserve meeting this horrifying man? I just want to live in peace!

His black eyes regard me cooly, taking in my tense but otherwise blank state as I try to hide my shaking hands in the bag I press against my chest. "Nice to meet you..." I say, my harsh, wispy voice a bit hoarse as it comes out. I bow a little from what I remember of Japanese etiquette, quickly making sure that my feet are touching. He nods in what seems to be approval.

"You're lucky with your hermit's lifestyle that your daughter is at least adequate in ettiquite. The clan will take over her raising for now." He states, looking down at my mother. Her look is withering and I slightly scrunch myself into my patched gown. My old parents had that look a lot; it meant that they weren't happy and that my opinion wouldn't matter. I may not know Himiko very well due to her constant illness, but social cues are where my intelligence reigns.

Children are meant to be seen, not heard.

"Hotarubi will _not_ be taken from me. She doesn't need to be a ninja- and I won't have her wasting her childhood doing things that children her age _shouldn't."_ She growls, her harsh voice cracking in her dry throat, but despite her feeble state, I feel as though I'm staring into the face of an enraged lion. I shiver and step back a little. Me, a ninja? It would be...

Horrible.

I know that I'm no Naruto. I don't have the luck of the cosmos or the right words in the right time, nor an entity comprised of practically radioactive energy. For all I know, I will most likely become like Kakashi- drowned in blood and bad memories. I'm not strong enough for such a life- their society is built on murder. Mine is built on deception and prideful old men. Different, but not quite the same. What they would be asking of me- what they _will_ be asking of me- goes against years of ingrained morals. Manslaughter in self defense? No problem. Murder because someone tells me to?

I'd rather drop dead.

"It doesn't matter what _you_ want, woman. If you hand over the child, you will be given all the best medical care until you're capable again. The Uchiha clan will take custody of your child if your health doesn't improve within the year. It is the law." He finalizes his speech with clear disdain for her, his words heavy in the air that becomes ten degrees colder. Suddenly, Himiko's heavy coughs wrack her body before she can reply, her hacking breaths ratting her bong form.

Fugaku snorts and turns around, facing me and staring him dead in the eye. I feel uncomfortable, but stare right back into his black eyes. "Child, do you know basic math? What is your knowledge level?" He asks, his folded arms shifting as he taps his index finger on his cloth thoughtfully. I hesitate for a moment before answering slowly. "I can do math up to simple forms of Algebra two. Biology is easy, beginner chemistry is okay, reading and writing are..." I think for the word. "... dismal. Chakra theory..." This one is easy. I was always better with metaphysical things, anyways. "... exceptional. Physical Education, not very good... I think." My mind has all sorts of moves ingrained into my head. Maybe it has already had my muscles memorize them? He nods, scrunching his nose as I mention my horrible literary skills. "Adequate. Those can be fixed quickly." He hums, his face softening.

Suddenly, he shifts down onto one knee right in front of me and smiles. I panic and clench the bag harder, my facade falling as I stumble backwards a bit and lightly purse my lips. My spooked, unsociable behavior doesn't sway him as he stretches a hand out to me. I stare at him, switching my haze back and forth between him an his clenched fist. Seeing my distrust, he opens his palm to reveal a wrapped candy. I instantly zero onto the treat, my breath hitching. I haven't seen such a sweet, tempting treat held before me for so long; the taste of boiled leather and bitter herbs too ingrained in my tongue to remember what sugar felt like in my mind. I gulp as my mouth waters feverishly, my world narrowed down to a tablet of caramel (I don't even _like caramel)_ and sugar. "Take it." He says, pushing his hand a little closer as I take another step back, snapping out of my reverie. "You can have more if you come to the main household as well." He promises me, making my eyes light up and shoot up to his. His smile grows a little at my responsiveness, making the corners of my mouth twitch up as I gently nab the candy. He pats my head as I lean into his touch, the feeling of a warm hand on my head so comforting that it makes me face glow like a firefly's light. He smiles wider and stands up, brushing me aside gently as he leaves. I wait for a moment until he leaves, pocketing the sweet.

"Kaa-san, I-" I turn to her with my face flowing in excitement, but she immediately grabs my shoulders with a bruising grip and shakes me. "K-kaa-san-" I stammer, my head pounding and bones aching as her nails dig into my skin and sharply draw blood, making me cry out. " _You foolish child!"_ She cries, her black hair thin and disheveled wreathing around us like a veil of darkness, her sunken face and bloodshot eyes like a demon in the dark. " _How_ **dare yoU!"** Shescreeches, pushing me into the ground with monstrous strength, pulling at my long hair. I push and shove and kick, adrenaline pumping in my veins as I try to run, try to hide from the demon that has hidden from me all this time. She screams and slams me against the floor repeatedly, my head screaming in pain as we hit the hard, wooden floor and my breath is knocked out of me, bruising my ribs. **"YO** **U uN _gRat_ _EfuL ChiLdThe demon hisses her nails like claws as she drags them across my temple to the bottom of my right cheek, scraping the corner of my eye as my blood flows like an angry river. Her fingers grab hold of my neck, throttling me more as bile rises in my throat. I brokenly scream in agony as she's torn away from me by an unknown man, his long, white hair flying like a halo as he pins the Demon down, fingers tapping her neck gently as she slumps still._**

I cough feverishly and sit up immediately, my savoir rushing over to me as his hands hold me up tenderly. My entire body is screaming in pain, my legs shivering in the aftershock as the world around me blurs, muffled comforts falling on my ringing ears as pain shoots through me with every breath.

Amidst the blur of colors, something glows softly like the light in a firefly's afterglow, green and calm as it soothes the pain from my shivering, sobbing form. The green light reaches my head and the headache fades away, my blurred view slowly clearing to see crimson eyes. "There, I'm no expert, so I can't erase all damage, but the pain shouldn't bother you. Speak for me, please? I know it still stings but I've got to know if you'll be okay." He whispers softly, stroking my hair gently as hot, silent tears stream down my face. "W-who... Are-re y-you?" I rasp, ignoring the way my voice was dead and husky, a stranger's voice. He smiles bitterly and his hand clenches my hair a little, making me wince from the fresh memories. "You seem to be handling this well, daughter." He says wrly.

I'm the type that takes a while for trauma to set in. Right now, I just really want to take a nap. I'll freak out later...

"Daughter?" I squeak out before immediately regretting it, coughing as my raw and sore throat is struck with pinpricks of pain.

"Yes." His flat, gravelly voice confirms my words. "I'm Hiruko. Former Konoha-nin."

Former?


	2. Beginning Arc: Awakening

**I really didn't like how my chapter ended last time, but oh well. And dear Lord, Fugaku is a tough cookie to portray (as are all emotionally stunted Uchiha Co.) and holy crap Danny Phantom is making a comeback and it. Is. FABULOUS. Updates on all my books will be a bit late since my uncle just died from drowning, and I'm really concerned about my five year old cousin who saw it happen, so I'm going to have slow updates for a while while we resituate. Chapter is equal parts fluff and angst. This chappy is where the M rating raises it's head, so fair warning.**

 **Oh yeah, LOOKING. FOR. BETAAAAA!!!**

Hiruko is not a bad father.

He abandoned me for about three years until he suddenly shows on what can arguably be the most unsettling day of (this) my life, but for reason. I may still be a child, mentally and physically, but I am capable of looking past my emotions and understanding reason.

Hiruko is a missing-nin.

He couldn't have taken care of us if he wanted. It's clear enough that it took him a lot of effort to even enter the village, so the fact he came here just to see me is enough to let me let go of feelings of abandonment. It helps to think that he's not technically my father, just a stranger who I have familial ties with on this new body. It doesn't help that I literally have no idea who the hell he is.

Knowledge of the future is useless if you can't apply it, and Hiruko's role and identity evades me. He has physical and behavioral characteristics of someone from the Kaguya clan, minus the bloodthirsty craze, but Kaguya have never been registered in the Konoha index as far as I know. He's also missing the red marks that appeared genetic in Kimimaro and his clan from what I've seen in his flashbacks, but the man looks eerily familiar to me. I've seen him before, without doubt. I just don't _remember_ him.

Hiruko scoops the ladel in the pot, hot, steaming vegetable and leather soup pouring into the bowl in his hand. Mother- no, the _demon_ sleeps in the corner, perfectly subdued. Her unconscious form doesn't soothe me. I keep her in the corner of my eye, never missing a single rise or fall on her chest. Perhaps I'm paranoid, but maybe that's a good thing. The attack was something of a wakeup call. I'm in a world of shinobi, where even common household civilians are capable of snapping just from sheer hatred or betrayal like the demon did. I'm never quite safe- and I probably never will be.

Hiruko passes me the bowl of soup. I take it with a grateful nod of my head, small, stubby, cold fingers curling around the deliciously warm wooden container as I sip the miso flavored broth. I close my eyes and breathe deeply as the flavor washes over my tongue, the smooth liquid like life in my mouth as I savor each and every drop that glides down my throat. With my father had come riches of miso and flavoring, and never before have I been so grateful for food that wasn't dried, flavorless jerky or frozen eggplant. Never again am I going to settle for plain food.

The fire underneath the cauldron crackles against the still, frigid winter air, embers like fireflies flickering through the air before the quickly die out. Father takes a sip of his own soup, and I see him gag a little as a piece of leather enters his mouth. I smile lightly, knowing that I had the same reaction at my first taste of the insanely bitter staple.

Hiruko is not a bad cook.

"They're going to make you a shinobi soon." He states, his voice serious as he sets down his empty bowl, grabbing and refilling mine as I hand it to him. I nod twice. I'm still rather speechless about it all- a lot has been shoved onto me today. "Train me?" I ask him weakly, not meeting his gaze as he looks down at me. He seems to approve, his back straightening as the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Yes. That's why I came here. I knew they would try to take you from her and make you... one of _them."_ He drawls with a bit of animosity, his gaze flickering to the fire as a bitter expression overtakes him. "The decision is yours in the end, for I will not expect you to join me, but I will let you know that my doors outside the village gates are always open to you. I have plans for this world, plans I cannot tell you yet, because they _will_ try and take them from you." He refills his bowl, a contemplative silence impregnating the air. So, he predicted Fugaku's move. Interesting.

"I will stay in the village for a time and try to talk to your mother. I will teach you some of my techniques, but I must stress that some of them are not to be revealed to your... _comrades,_ since they are forbidden techniques, but may save your life some day. I will prepare scrolls for you to read during the time I am gone. Are there any questions?" he asks, blowing on the soup as he spoons it into his mouth. I'm quite sure my second serving is getting cold, but I'll have plenty time to eat later.

"... Her." I gesture to the woman in the corner, "Why did you leave her... like this?" I gesture to the dilapidated shack with a sweep of my eyes, looking back at him for his answer. Hiruko's wrinkled lips draw a fine line at my question, his grayish pale skin so reminiscent of my own despite my darker tone making him appear haunted. "I had very little when I left. Truthfully, your real mother died giving birth to you. She is your aunt, and I would have given you everything had I anything." He woefully explains, his reddish, pale eye boring into my own russet black. I take it in stride, though I feel a piece of me hollow when he tells me I have no mother. I killed a woman to have a life of my own. Then, I destroyed the life of her sibling because I cannot take care of myself. I stare at the fire, recoiling at the harsh flames that lick at the air and submerge myself in the darkness outside of it's reach, reveling in the cold numbing my skin.

He watches me carefully, opening an arm to me under his pale cloak. I eye it before accepting his reach, curling into his thin chest much like my own as we revel in the warmth of each other, even as the flames flicker and die, we are warm.

•óŌò•

I'm beginning my training with Hiruko. We're outside and it's snowing in the woods inside of Training Ground Twenty-Eight, an abandoned area as far as shinobi activity due to the overgrowth in the warmer seasons, and then the ridiculous ice and rock buildup in the fall and winter. But, it's perfect for us. Why?

Hiruko is not compassionate.

The ice slips at my stiff, gauze-wrapped and calloused feet, rocks digging needlessly into my tough soles as feeling completely leaves my fumbling feet. He waits patiently for me to keep up with my much smaller twig legs, his hood pulled over his head. Leaping over a fallen pine trunk, I finally reach him. He picks me up with a supportive arm under my rear and forearm wrapped around the ribs poking out of my back to quasi-hug me.

He places me on top of the tall rock beside him, sitting me down cross-legged before stepping back. I shuffle so that my legs are folded together neatly under me, the balls and toes on my feet planted firmly though my heels dig into my backside.

"We're going to begin with ninjutsu training. Fugaku will undoubtedly be teaching you taijutsu, but I doubt he'll spend much time teaching you ninjutsu, especially if you don't have fire nature." Hiruko explains, an odd glitter in his eyes at the end of his sentence. "But first, you'll need to unlock it. Breathe in and out as if meditating and search within you for energy. It varies between people, so I'm unable to tell you what exactly it is or looks like."

I nod at his advice and close my eyes, ignoring the soft droplets of snow gathering on my nose and eyelashes as the sky opens up for the gentle snowfall.

 _My world becomes dark, but so, so full of life. It's silent, but I can hear the blood flowing in my skin, life simmering and boiling quietly within. I feel the warmth my cold skin exudes, the pulse of my heart as it beats in harmony with the earth. I delve deep, deep, deeper, the numbness a long forgotten quality of the tranquil, living world beneath the dead flesh and snow. Enveloped by darkness but seeing a light far greater than any before, it bursts to life; flickering like a flame and flashing to dull and bright, dancing in fluid tandem to the flow of everything. The living flame engulfs me, the gentle, welcoming lilac strands caressing me with the fluidity of water, warm flames and cold winds heating and cooling my face as they tenderly whisper through the strands of my hair, the world forgotten around me. Then, I feel a tug. A tug separating me from the light, the darkness, the comfort, the right. I don't want to go but I know, someway somehow, that I must. Slowly, painfully, regretfully I tear away, the last wisp of the spirit leaving my hand as everything fades to white._

I inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering open as I return, seeing Hiruko in the sitting lotus position, eyes closed and body in peace. I can barely comprehend as he slowly returns, his almost heavy eyelids sliding open as my gaze catches his. He doesn't say anything, but gives me a knowing smile. I breathe out a breath of frozen smoke in disbelief, a feeling of _fullness,_ of _power,_ of _life_ in my soul I have never felt before.

 _Breathless._ Is all I can describe. He understands, I can see it in his eyes. I want to sit there, to stare at the sky and just _feel._ All burdens or emptiness has left me, and all I can see in the dead earth before me is _wonder._

I let my head drop back onto the blanket of snow on the rock, the freezing air nipping _life_ into my dead lungs as I stare into the clear, black expanse before me, small pinpricks of life and light in the dark navy sky flaring and dying, thriving and falling, the stars like fireflies in the sky.

 _When is the last time I opened my eyes?_

"Wake. We need to continue."

The moment ends all to soon as I wrench in disappointment. I tighten my abdomen as my stomach muscles make myself shoot up with a new vigor as though I have been reborn. I blink at the unexpected responsiveness of my body, used to dull lugging. Hiruko smiles wryly at my barely displayed shock, but I suppose as a blank face similar to mine, it's not too hard for him to decipher my emotions.

I slip off of the rock, my flesh warm and skin frigid, breath like dragon's smog as it creeps out of my mouth. I can feel the ice melt slightly under my feet, the contrast of the cold world and my emanating heat a beautiful feeling.

"Lesson One: Kinjutsu."

•óŌò•

Waiting outside of the main Uchiha household is nerve wracking. While the Uchiha are now accustomed to my presence despite having only traveled through a grand total of two times, this making the third, make no mistake that my visit is not wanted. Ever since the Demon's attack, I have never felt safe lest Hiruko held me in his arms. Paranoia is a double-edged sword as all my knowledge tells me, as ignorance is bliss but I cannot be arrogant when my nervous mind sees all of the glares and mouths with hushed whispers. It reminds me eerily of Naruto's treatment, but I keep quiet and stare at the door, knocking gently as I try to ignore their stares.

Mikoto Uchiha answers me, sliding the traditional shogi door aside as she looks about for a second before her gaze drops onto me. She blinks and I gulp, frozen in panic and rethinking actually taking Fugaku up on his offer because meeting canon characters is _a can of worms_ worth of panic and awe from years of obsessing over them. Because I really know very _little_ about Mikoto Uchiha do what if she hates my guts or winds up being really intimidati-

"You must be Hotarubi! Fugaku told me about you! Please, come in." She gasps, stepping to the side as I stiffly walk in, unused to someone so... cheerful. It's been three years (an entire lifetime, in my current case) since I've been greeted quite so warmly. The door is slid shut behind me as I follow Mikoto through her house, feeling shamefully akin to a lost puppy.

"They're in the back. Please, go join them." She politely ushers me towards Fugaku and a boy onto the back porch, disappearing behind the shogi walls. I can feel my chakra within me flicker and dim, anxiousness and discomfort smoldering the flames. Fugaku is about thirty feet away in the wide clearing, back to me and arms crossed as a boy around my age tosses shuriken into wooden targets, each hitting dead center. Winter has frozen the ground of the bare clearing, the tree line consisting of evergreens and skeleton branches as our breaths breathe lilac hues into the early-morning blue, an overcast sky holding this fragile world high. The cool calms my erratic pulse, comfort settling in me as the view reminds me of midwinter in Virginia. My mouth becomes a little dry as I swallow nonexistent saliva, forcing myself to step toward the Clan Head.

"Fugaku-san?" I chirp quietly, noting that my voice is no longer adenoidal, but modulated and smoky, a permanent result to the damage done to my throat that Hiruko could not fix. A sharp ringing pierces the air as my eyes lock onto a shuriken soaring at me. I duck as my eyes widen involuntarily, noting the black weapon that digs into one of the pine support pillars of the house twenty-five feet away is half-buried into the wood.

"Stand down, Itachi." Fugaku's baritone voice barks harshly, making me flinch at the tone. But, it's the _name_ and the _voice_ that make my stomach clench and turn. "Hai, Chichi-ue." The boy- _Itachi_ omits, standing perfectly straight as he slides back up from his toss position. Uchiha _Itachi_ nearly _killed_ me.

I suppose I'm only grateful that there have been worse ways to die.

"Uchiha- _sama_ , Hotarubi." Fugaku admonishes me, and I flush from the embarrassment of forgetting that calliione by their name is an informal title. Inwardly, I sniff a little. Uchiha are sticklers for formality. Giving him a nod appeases him a little, but I can tell that he's a bit miffed from my lack of a reply.

"Itachi, this is Hotarubi. She'll be joining us in practice occasionally." Fugaku introduces us, and I take a light bow to the one who was making me burn worlds in my head. It's _Itachi,_ for heaven's sake! He's _fabulous._ He was (and kinda is) my _hero._ And he's freaking _adorable._

"Hotarubi-san." He acknowledges, replicating my actions as I stare at the trench markings on his face that I swear _cannot_ be healthy. His black hair is as short as it is portrayed in Itachi Hiden, and despite how shota most of the kid characters he is _tall._ That, or I'm just short. But still, he towers over me by a head and a third, already up to Fugaku's hips while I'm stuck at knee-height. I really don't want to know if I fit the qualifications for 'ankle-biter.'

Whether Fugaku senses my internal crisis and fangirling heart or not, he doesn't comment on it even as my face bloats and flushes slightly from trying to keep in the screaming.

 _Because it's Itachi Uchiha._

"Focus, Hotarubi." Fugaku orders me and I immediately shoot out my held breath to notice the two of them out to the side, waiting for me as I stand there stupidly.

"Hai, Uchiha-sama."

•óŌò•

Day two at the Uchiha's main household;

Fugaku probably hates me.

Shurikenjutsu is probably the worst skill I have in the entire universe, even worse than my abysmal talent at being sociable. I can't even _hold_ a shuriken properly, and my hands are littered with small scars from cutting myself on the blades while my arms are ridiculously sore from tossing them only for them to miss completely. Needless to say, as far as Fugaku is concerned, I am a shame to the Uchiha name.

Thankfully, ninjutsu training is going well with Hiruko. My bloodied hands were a nuisance, so Hiruko has begun teaching me simple iryo-ninjutsu to heal small injuries quickly. Once I have that down, he says he will teach me some of his own personal jutsu, something that makes me incredibly happy. Teaching someone your personal jutsu is like entrusting their legacy- like Naruto learned Rasengan and Sasuke learned Chidori and Sakura took on Tsunade's healing and taijutsu.

Still, Fugaku is convinced that for an Uchiha to be any semblance of a worthy ninja they must uphold the family arts- which I am currently failing in, and I suspect that I'll never perfect the Uchiha shurikenjutsu.

I spread my legs a bit further than my shoulder width, sinking lower as I hold my arm and shuriken behind me as I aim at the target. Fugaku watches carefully, instructing me to steady my trembling fingers, but I really _can't_ because when my fingers tremble they won't stop until I've had seven cups of tea and hit something for good measure, so I just try to relax as I swing my arm in an arc, tossing four shuriken at the four targets. Exactly after I do do, I hear five 'thunk!'s beside me as I take a look at the aftereffect.

On shuriken lays at my feet, one is stuck in the ground, two are forever lost in the line woods while one decided to do collateral dameand actually landed on one of Itachi's targets... all of which have direct bullseyes.

Stupid prodigy.

Fugaku sighs long-sufferingly at my annoyed and embarrassed face, Itachi's fairly blank but I _swear_ he's mocking me on the inside. I'll get him one day...

•óŌò•*

"... Did you kill it?"

Hiruko sighs beside me, taking his hands off of the corpse and taking my own. "It would have died soon anyways, Hota. Look at it; it was best that he died and was going to be useful." He gently wipes the tear from my eye, but I can't stop looking at the dead dog. It had been a mother- I can tell by the swollen breasts and lack of nutrition that mothers on the streets always face. She had been beautiful at one point in time; tall and furred, strong and unbreakable. But here she lays bare of any hair, hunger and disease having devastated her frame. Konoha would allow such a state of even strays?

"You won't get sick. The seal on you protects you from that. You need to try, Hota." He tells me, firm and uncoddling but patient. I understand his reasoning, but that doesn't make it easier. I grew up around dogs when others hung out with friends. Would this count as betrayal? "Will it work?" I mumble, hesitancy begging me to stall just a little longer, to try and flush away all feelings of disgust towards myself. Hiruko remains patient. "It will. Your chakra is created so that you may absorb all that you wish. And should it go out of control, I will be here to absorb the impact, but that is a very low chance." He whispers, but I fear even more because I don't _want_ him to take any possible rebound. This is an experiment on his behalf, a new version of his techniques that, if our test goes correctly, is something only I am capable of. He's already taken rebound from trying on his own. His teeth are only narrow needles, his eyes are grey where there should be white and his face is cracked and slightly malformed. It's something he only lets be seen to me by letting go of the genjutsu making his body young and fit, but that is far from the truth. He leans my hands onto the cold flesh, ripping open the carcass. Bile rises in my throat, but I gulp it down despite the tears stinging my eyes and the fog forming in my head.

It's strange. He's very adamant about this.

I want to believe he's doing this for my own good, but how can I when it feels like he's using me?

"Do it, Hota-chan. For your own good." He reminds me as the thick blood runs down my arms as I reach past the bones and the lungs, the stench of death staining my skin as I grab the organ and rip it out. It's still warm- soft and small, and the blood drains from it as I squeeze it gently. I will never drink blood.

The red splatters onto the floor, staining the white snow as the heart is crushed beneath my hands, 'til nothing remains but veins and tissue. My eyes burn as I see what I'm doing in all too-perfect detail, everything in slow motion as I slowly raise my hands and the burning won't go _away a **Nd-**_ I stop.

I don't want to do this.

"You must, Hota-chan. For your own good."

I swallow the heart.

•óŌò•

I sip the green tea gingerly, the bitter and milky drink washing down my dry throat.

I can still taste the blood.

Itachi sits opposite of me, silent as the grave as he watches his tea swirl in idle interest. With the two of us together, it's relatively quiet without Fugaku's occasional order. Taijutsu training was easier today. It's been getting easier every day.

Ever since the first experiment.

I shake my head. I don't want to remember that. Not here. But my mind doesn't let it go- I see my tea become a pool of blood, hearts and eyes and bird's wings filling the cusp, the dead eyes of the animals' hearts I'd eaten in full display.

I hadn't known I'd eaten them _alive._

"You're blanking out." Itachi notes, gulping down another sip of tea. I flinch as the vision fades, my green tea a calming green again and force myself to look up, seeing Itachi stare into my eyes. I heat up immediately and look away. I'm disgusted at myself, but how does one look at a crush that didn't exist for a long time? I don't know.

"You do that frequently." He probes further, looking away and I can hear the dull drawl in his voice. His mother must be pushing him to become my friend again. I look out to the training field as well, seeing the wet and soggy ground and little shoots of grass peeking up from the melted soil. Spring is coming soon, and all but the lazy clouds that cross the sun seem to know it. Vines are creeping up along the forest ground, green bark is slowly seeping with sap again while birds chirp and firefly larvae hide in the fresh undergrowth. It's beautiful, but every time a bird flies by or the skies shift, all I see is red. Red like the color of a burning sky, life that slowly drips from the beating heart as it snaps un my hands, bloody rivers and skeleton trees-

"It bothers you?" I ask, my cold voice cracking a little from infrequent use. I wonder how much Itachi speaks if his voice doesn't crack. Probably a lit more than he likes to, knowing how doting the clan can be on him. "A bit." He admits, our eyes fluttering back together. I snort and crack a smile, trying not to laugh. How long has it been since someone poked my weird sense of humor? It's been a good while.

"You bother me a bit too." I smirk, my grin pulling itself wider as he quirks an eyebrow at me. "How so?" He inquires, the corners of his mouth dipping in a frown. I can only smile more, warmth and life buzzing in my veins like fireflies let loose from a jar. "You're too gloomy. You and the rest of the clan always look like you just got told that there's a stick up tour butt."

It's true. At least to me, anyways. The sneers haven't stopped. They've gotten even worse if I truly think about it.

Word is that I'm the child of a traitor.

Itachi blinks at my analogy and pauses, his brow furrowing. I break out in laughter like I've contacted the hives, throwing my head backwards and letting my obnoxious, chiming laughter at his reaction. "Y-You- _pffft- hahA-_ look constipated!" I howl, slamming my fist onto the planks as I flop onto my back, arm clenching my aching sides.

"Such crude words from such an elegant voice." He deadpans, letting me roll in maniacal hysteria at the break of the _great Itachi's_ **stupid face.** I can't _stop_ laughing even after two minutes because it's _Itachi_ and every time I look at him I see that _face-_

 _"Ow!"_ I yelp, smacking a palm onto my forehead. "What was that for?" I whine, rubbing my skin even though it really didn't hurt. Wait. Did _Uchiha Itachi_ just forehead-poke me?

Crap.

That's like getting a death warranty.

"Hn." He grunts, sitting back down on his knees as I slump formlessly onto the floor, mortified at the ticket to a life of Uchiha angst. But still, something inside me feels warm at the notion. It means I have _meaning_ to someone. Someone who has no obligation to amuse my needs, but someone who actually _cares_ enough to share a kind gesture.

No matter how devastating and subtle it may be, I'm glad to have found some place in his heart.

Maybe, just maybe, I can try to ease his pain?

"You still have a stick up your butt, in my opinion."

•óŌò•

"... Hotarubi, what _is... **that?"**_

I look up from my newest creation, seeing my first successful fusion flying around my head. As soon as he showed me this kinjutsu, I had immediately placed who he is in my head. He's the Hiruko from the third shippuden movie, chimeras and all. And just now, I've created a chimera of my own liking.

"Oh. Chichi-ue, meet Parry the Platypus. Parry, meet Chichi-ue."

Silence.

"... Alright, you know what? Remember that special storage seal? What did you name it again?"

"I named it Australia."

"Uh. Yeah, _Austraria._ Put it in there with the other, uhh... _things."_

•òŌò•

It's my fourth birthday.

And with it comes drastic changes.

I beat _Itachi Uchiha_ in a sparring match today.

At the price of his broken elbow.

The creamy shade of green fades from my hands as I pull away, wincing as I see the red, swollen bruise on his arm. My heart is still hammering in my chest from touching his arm, as stupid as that is. The only way I touch _anyone_ anymore is if I'm attacking them or if I'm purposefully annoying them. It doesn't help that his deep, black eyes haven't stopped _staring_ at me ever since I began healing him. "It's gon' be sore for a few days since I can't wipe out the lactic acid in someone else's body like I can my own. Otherwise, the bone's mended. Clean cut." I tell him, falling back onto my rear as I swipe the sweat from under my eyes. Winter is here again, and with it came new clothes that Hiruko was finally capable of purchasing for me. The cold doesn't bother me at all, so Itachi's current scrutiny of my outfit is probably called for.

I'm wearing a skintight turtleneck halter top, a silver-furred hood attached to the grey fabric. Mid-thigh shorts (Mikoto had been mortified. I'd forgotten that this generation is very conservative.) as black as an angry Uchiha's heart and gauze wrappings slid around my ankles and the joint between my heel and the balls of my feet. I can tell that he's curios about the ourobouros necklace coiled around my neck from the way he's been leering at it ever since I came for morning practice.

"Don't touch it if you want to keep your life." I warn him, glaring at his hand that's inches away from it's place on my chest.

"Hn-" "Don't touch what?"

I screech at the new voice directly behind me as I twist on instinct, aiming a punch that the perpetrator catches with a wince. "Da-" "Language, Shisui." "-rn, Itachi! You told me that she punches like a man, but you never told me she was so fiery!" Shisui exclaims. My face is set on fire.

"Eeh?! Do you have a fever?! You're cold, Itachi, making a lady work when she's ill!" Shisui leans further towards my face, making my head spin and vision blur. "Back!" I shout, my palm slamming into his face Hyuuga-style.

That's how I met Shisui Uchiha.

•óŌò•

 **"Again."** Hiruko drills, my shin slamming into the side of his clone as it disperses. I contort my flat palm into a fist at the last second as a second clone takes it's place, it's nose snapping with a sickening _crunch_ before it disappears. I pant in the heat of spring's second week, sweat layering my slim, lithe form. I'm five now, and I'll be joining Itachi in the academy this year. He's seven and my older peer, but I feel better knowing that while he trumps me in Shuriken and Katon jutsu, I ca hold my ground fairly well using a different form of my taijutsu against him in hand-to-hand combat. And he's a _prodigy._ Shisui is a good sparring partner, too. Just not preferable with his tendency to piss me off.

Another clone takes it's place, a solid one this time, but disappears in a burst of black grime when my fingers dig through it's windpipe, splattering the black blood on my face. There are no more.

"You start the academy tomorrow." He states, and I nod as I wipe the black tar into the untarnished snow, blotting out the shimmering flecks that twinkle like firefly lights in the moon's glow. "Be cautious of rebound. Don't display your powers unless it's life or death."

I smile and nod, but not because it sounds like he cares.

It's because he's _leaving._

•óŌò•

"I'm leaving." I tell Taru. The half-firefly-half-spider nods. I glance to the Demon in the bed, it's black eyes staring at me with a piercing, empty gaze. "Keep an eye on her. You know what to do." I tell him as he flits off to the other bug hybrids hiding in the cracks of the cieling, the guardians of my home. I turn to leave, my hand pushing the door open. "Hotaru-chan? You're leaving, Hotaru-chan? DoN' **T** _LEavE **Me**!" _The demon screams as I slam the door shut behind me, running through the firefly graveyard faster than ever before. Hiruko was a nightmare, but with him gone, hell has taken over.

The walk through the Uchiha compound is quiet. Relatively so, anyways. The adults whisper and point in my way, children sneering openly when I glance up to the faces of the whispers. I flinch under the glares of war-hardened shinobi that pass by, fear and a bit... angry. But I keep my head down and keep my bag clenched close to me. If I stay low, they'll leave me alone. My legs get wobbly as I walk on in silence under the intense scrutiny, social anxiety and general fear building up in me. The gates are soon in my view, a hallelujah sign that makes me walk a little faster in my desperation. Apparently that was all it took for someone to throw a pebble at my head, a sharp stinging ringing in the back of my head as I race and duck behind the wall.

My breathing is irregular and my heart is pounding in my ears. The world blurs and blackens and suddenly I'm sinking in black tar, the earth swallowing me as the sky bleeds red rain, vultures of tar, tendon and bone sweeping overhead. The tar is set ablaze and the world catches fire, the moanings of the dead screaming in my ears as I try to _get up, get out get away away run! Runru_ **nRUnRu _n-_**

 ** _"Who could ever love you, traitor child?"_**

 _The black swallows me and the skeletons rip out my hair, searing pain as the hellfire burns me alive and I tear away, trying to get away but the blades in their hearts pierce me as I struggle. Why are they here? They're not real, they're not real, they're not real, they'rE NoT **RE** ALNotrEaL **no** t **rEal-**_

 ** _"We're not real?"_**

 _I open my eyes, bloody for tears as it all ceases for a moment, their fingers bruising my skin halting as I see them._

 _"Mom? Dad?" I cry, seeing my parents, my **real** parents before me. Hope floods my system like adrenaline and I wail, happiness and relief and joy and everything rushing like a waterfall. They're my **parents.** They **love** me. They're here. They're **here.**_

 _ **"What have you** become_ _My father shrieks, his face becoming hollow and ghostly pale as my mother views me in horror. My heart shatters. What? **Wh-**_

My forehead aches. I open my stinging eyes I didn't know I had closed, Itachi's clear obsidian eyes staring back. "You spaced out again."

I blink.

"Itachi." The word comes out of my mouth, fainter than a whisper of the wind. _Itachi._ Itachi loves me. Itachi will understand. Itachi won't abandon me. Not Itachi.

I let myself slide forwards slowly until my forehead sits on his shoulder. "Itachi." I let the tears fall. Hot, _clear_ tears that twinkle like firefly lights in the clouded winter shadow as Itachi stiffens, unsure of what to do. I don't care. The fact that he's _here,_ that he's not pushing me away is enough. I know that he cares. That's _enough._

"You're gonna have a baby brother soon, idiot. Use this time to practice, Ita-ahō." I sniffle, making him stiffen up even more as he rigidly hugs me, thumb rubbing up and down on my spine. I moan and curl in closer to him, the dull, aching sadness in my heart easing slightly at his awkward comfort. He's warm. Hard, completely un-squishy like a kid should be and uncomfortable and all sorts of weird loyalty, but he's warm.

"Um. I'm here too, you know?"

•óŌò•

" I still can't believe you two had a cuddle-fest right in front of me. I need mind-soap. No kid my age should have to see that."

"Perhaps the world would be better off if you did cleanse your mind. We really don't know where it's been." Itachi remarks dryly, a rare occasion in which he actually opens up. Shisui sticks his rogue out at him, but all Itachi does is roll his eyes. They speak quietly enough that no one outside from us can hear, as people are giving us quite a wide berth. I'm sandwiched between them, jittery and uncomfortable. Turns out that the Uchiha might just be gossip queens, because from the glares aimed for murder to me in the street aren't confined to just the compound. We're away from any prying eyes now that we're traveling on a less-used road, but I can't shake off this stabbing pain. They hurt, but I can somewhat ignore them after my 'episode' that helped me calm down a little. I'm more confused about Itachi and Shisui. They saw _it._ They saw me in my worst state, too.

And they haven't asked a single question.

The lack of pressure is _weird._ Not unpleasant, but it doesn't make me feel any less put out. "Itachi? Shisui?" They turn at my call, Itachi's hair slightly poofed from Shisui's assault on it. "You aren't gonna... ask about it?" I meekly ask, looking down at the ground and shuffling a little. Shisui looks confused for a second, but his eyes immediately soften. Itachi's lips purse and I feel him hesitantly pat my head. I lean into his touch, warmth creeping up my neck in embarrassment and memories of my father- my chest clenches.

"No one asks how you unlock the sharingan unless you want to tell." Shisui explains gently, and feelings of miffed pride and comfort twirl in my confused heart at being talked to so gently, as though I'm about to break. "Itachi here really can't put it into words, but we're willing to listen if you want us to. Phase-two sharingan can be a lot to handle at our age, so don't be afraid if you need help, okay?" Itachi lets his hand drop as he stands by awkwardly, his emotional capabilities having reached their limits.

I'm quiet for a moment, wordless and happy all at once. They care, and they _understand._ What more do I need in life? If I rely on them-

 _Images of an eyeless Shisui drowning in the river, crows cawing a requim as Itachi's blood is spilled on his brother's hands..._

I can't rely on them. I'm going to _save_ them. So what if it messes up the plot? I lived one life without a timeline in my hands. I can do it again.

I nod to Shisui, making him light up in a hundred-watt smile. A little bit of me melts at the sight. "... would this be a good time to tell you that we're actually taking graduation tests today?"

I deadpan.

"What."

I realize exactly what that means.

"You're leaving me on the first day!? You traitors!" I screech, hissing at Shisui when he laughs at my plight. One minute and I'm already rethinking my plans to save this insufferable brat. Itachi looks (rightly) horrified by my lack of any mannerable restraint as I lunge at a cackling Shisui, digging my finger up my nose as I chase him around with a wobbly booger. Poor boy, having lived in the Uchiha household where manners were as necessary as breathing. Too bad for him I grew up with a crude mother and crude siblings. "Gyaa _aAah!_ Shisui, _no!_ Don't you _dare- AaaAAAGH!_ ITACHI, HELP ME YOU USELESS WEASEL." I scream when Shisui grabs my arm and makes my finger with the mucus point at my face instead.

"I want nothing to do with your improper games."

"Aw, c'mon, 'Tachi, get that stick shoved up your butt called manners out and have some- _AAAH! NO BITING, BAD TARU-CHAN, BAD!"_

I think I'm gonna be okay.

We're all gonna be okay.


	3. Beginning Arc: Realization

**Hello! Quick A/N here! I'm still looking for a Beta who is good with story flow and fleshing out landscape descriptions! (The Betas I ask are either uninterested or never respond ( T w T ) Also, all jutsu in this chapter are actual registered jutsu. Sorry for not updating recently since my wifi's been wonky, but I hope this 10k makes up for it :P**

"Oh. _You're_ here."

"Nice to see you too, Taru-chan!" Shisui chirps swinging the kunai in his hand aimlessly with the other stuffed in his pocket. It's day one in the Academy, and it already sucks without Itachi and Shisui. No one in my class is _noticeably_ from canon, and they're all _really_ stuck-up. The curriculum is easy enough, seeing as I know almost everything they teach, and on the things I don't know, I cheat. Simple. In this profession, if you aren't cheating, then you aren't trying hard enough. I like to think of it as getting extra practice in.

"Where's Itachi?" I ask, looking around for the missing link that typically cones with Shisui in the package. He pouts, jutting his lip out as half of me wants to roll my eyes and the other half of me wants to kiss him. I settle to give him a blank stare. "What, am I not enough? I even came over here just to support you on my last day!"

"Translation; Itachi got caught up with Izumi so you felt neglected and you came over to bother me."

Shisui slumps. I knew it. It's easier to read an Uchiha after being drowned in them for most of your life. Helps to be one, too, but I don't really technically count. Plus, he's been extra needy around me ever since Sasuke's absolutely hideous baby face came into this world about a year ago. "I guessed correctly. Therefore, I am worthy of a prize. Tell me something about the Academy. Don't tell me about genin squad components. I already know those." I demand, remaining perfectly blank even though Shisui's frowning pout was absolutely hilarious. "Maa, Taru-chan, that's too much!" He whines, making me smile slightly before I reach my hand up and tap his forehead.

Shisui's grin splits his face.

"Aw, you're taking after us, Taru-chan!" I scowl at him, my nose scrunching up as anything cute about him in my mind is lost at my embarrassment. "I am not. Now hurry up, don't change the subject. Tell me how to get into Anbu." I command him, quickly swiping my hand at him to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Ow, ow, Taru-chan! I-"

"Hotarubi Uchiha! You're up against Hana Inuzuka. Hurry up!" My teacher calls out, infuriated by my lack of attention. Oops. I cast a withering glare at Shisui who simply smiles in amusement, pointing an accusatory finger at him with a reminder that he has to make it up to me before running up to the small, white-marked sparring ring. Hana, who I failed to recognize before, looks incredibly invigorated at the idea of beating up an Uchiha. Not cool. That's prejudice, right? Or does she just really like the permission to brag people up, and I just happened to be chosen? I guess it really doesn't matter; I'm just glad she isn't allowed to use the three Haimaru Brothers in this fight. I can't handle kicking puppies.

I slide my hands into the deep pockets of my baggy, black jeans as Hana shifts into her position, a low stance with her arms out to the sides. The teacher nods and leaves us, moving on to the next pair who are awaiting instructions. "Hana, right?" I drawl, locking my eyes onto hers. If she knows of the Uchiha Sharingan (Who really doesn't?) or if she's stupid or brave, she doesn't break eye contact. I'm veering on probably brave stupidity. "How about we make a deal?" I offer, eyeing Shisui in the corner of my eye who obviously has nothing better to do, seeing as his class is taking a break a field across from us. Hana scoffs, her hair shifting with the movement. "Why would I make a deal with an Uchiha, much less one I'm about to beat the piss out of?" Okay, so it's neither stupidity or bravery, but condescending. Fun. "A ninja never underestimates their opponent." I sigh, but Hana only rolls her eyes. "You're literally two feet shorter than me and you only just joined the Academy. _In the middle of the year."_ My eye twitches. "I'm two years younger than you, and me being in the advanced class is a testament to my capability, no? Well, you're obviously not going to listen to reason, so..." I sluggishly slink into my taijutsu style, leaning forward slightly on the balls of my feet, left foot forward and right arm back, the left held out front with my fingers curled into a claw-like position. "Finally!" Hana barks, rushing forward at blinding speeds, something that makes me blink twice before I jump backwards to the right, towards her other palm as I bend back to avoid a follow-up sucker punch. I hadn't been expecting her to move so fast, but it _is_ war time, but she's not as fast as Itachi. I grab her arm as I arc halfway backwards, not giving her time to retreat as I rip the offending hand to the side and downwards, making Hana tumble down with it as I use my hold to pivot myself onto her back, forcing her wrist to twist onto the center of her shoulder blades. She immediately flips over onto her back as I barely jump off in time, cursing my small form as she leaps up and marks a sweeping kick for my ribs, fists tucked tucked close as I duck under the blow, grabbing her ankle and pulling her forward. The awkward angle forces her to lose balance as she hits the ground with a _thunk,_ and I repeated my earlier actions and use her leg to propel me forward. I steal a kunai from her pouch as I pass, not bothering to be subtle as I press the kunai against her neck.

"Give." Hana whispers, displeasure and shock in her eyes. I slide the kunai back into her holster, stepping back as she rubs at the thin line of blood on her neck. Shisui claps his hands on the sidelines as Hana's three Haimaru pups come yapping over. Ignoring Shisui and the angry, nosy pups nipping at my cargo pants, I lend a hand out to Hana in an offer to help. She blinks and stares at my palm in distrust. I sigh, tired of the blatant dislike of all Uchiha that has been raining down ever since the Kyuubi attack. It was bad for me in the beginning, now the general bias has made my situation worse. I need to get stronger as quickly as possible, and with Hiruko gone and Fugaku unable to provide me with taijutsu or ninjutsu training (after many failures, we determined I was not fire-natured. Fugaku looked throughly defeated, if I remember) and Shisui on missions, Itachi is my only sparring partner. The strong are determined by the weak, and the strong can nurture the weak. That all means nothing if I can't find someone strong outside of Anbu or Jonin, who would only apprentice me if they genuinely didn't care about my inheritance or on orders from the Hokage themselves, and while Itachi is truly a prodigy, I'll never get experience in if I don't find _someone else_ to aid me. And frankly? Most of the kids in this whole village are high and mighty to anyone without a positive title.

"Not all Uchiha have a stick up their butt." I murmur low enough for her to hear, making her eyes snap up to mine. She's a mix of amused and gobsmacked from her reaction, but the tell-tale fanged grin of the Inuzuka tears it's way onto her face before I can retract my hand. Amused as I strain a little to haul her up, she takes mercy on my accursed tiny toddler body and heaves herself up. "Not bad, kiddo. I admit my defeat. What style was that, anyways?" She asks as one of the three pups begins gnawing at the seams of my gauze wrap. I smile a little as Shishui saunters over, purposely ignoring him as I pick up the offending pup. "It's her own style. Super smart, isn't she, ne? She takes after me!" Shishui clips, folding his arms atop my head to use it as a chin rest. "Your own style, huh? Pretty sweet!" Hana barks, ruffling the fur of the black and white Haimaru brother in my arms. I snuggle my face into the wiggling pup's head, feeling the warmth of the ridiculously soft fur. Dogs are really therapeutic. "Don't you have to meet with your team right now?" Shisui blinks. "Oops."

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Yep!" He replies, popping the 'P' before skipping off. "See ya later, Tarubi-chaaan~!" He sings, waving behind himself as he runs off.

* * *

"So you have a dog too? Can I see him?!" Hana begs, her eyes sparkling as we walk through the hall together. "... he's, um... _doggish,_ but he's technically almost a summon... like a ninken, but not... it's kind of odd to describe..." I try to dissuade her, pointedly looking at everywhere in the halls except at her. "Oh, come one, pleeasseee?" She whines, the Haimaru triplets joining in with her infamous Inuzuka puppy-eyes. I groan internally. It's cute on dogs, but people here don't seem to get that I find it very unappealing and childish on people. "Fine, if you want to that badly." I give in, slumping a little as Hana shouts in victory, causing more than a few eyes to lock on us. As adorable as it is that she's been shadowing me since our spar, it's often times more trouble than it's worth. It's been half a year since she declared herself my friend. Rather one-sidedly, might I add. _Please stop, Hana._ I sigh in my head, ducking my head low as she pumps her fist in the air. Why do kids in this universe have to be too shallow, too expressive, or too smart for their age? My hair's going to turn white at this point. The Academy is quite different than the one in Naruto's time; stone marks the entrance point that me and Hana could see if we looked to the left, the rest of the halls completely wooden and decorated with traditional headstones instead of picture frames.

A loud clamoring makes it's way towards us, making everyone's attention, including ours, to the commotion in the hallway. Three boys are hiding behind Itachi, one large, burly boy facing my childhood friend with a less than amicable expression. I raise a brow, wonder what the heck _Itachi_ of all people could have done to provoke such a situation before it clicked. _Oh, right. This happened in canon too._

The boy charges at Itachi after he's given the Academy spar sign, but Itachi grabs his fist and flips him over, hardly phased at all when the boy cries out from the pain of his shoulder dislocating. "Get him to the infirmary." I cut in, stealing Itachi's line as the kids around him scramble to praise him as the others hurriedly obey my call, hauling the behemoth off to the clinic. Hana smirks behind me as everyone makes a slight path for us, eyes wary of my signature bushy hair that sways as I walk to Itachi. I look up to him, our eyes connecting when I stop. I frown and give him a sympathetic look. "You got roped into the 'high-tier' status too, haven't you?"

Itachi nods, looking purely dismayed at the looks of awe and fear of the other students. I sigh outwardly this time. "Well, come on then, clone-san. We've got History Class together." I tell him as his eyes widen slightly, not paying it much heed as Hana blinks in confusion. "Eeeh? What you talking about? That Itachi's a clone? Where's the real one?" She asks, making me smile slightly at her ability to take it in stride. "Being a dirty-ditcher, that's what." Hana looks at me suspiciously, eyeing both me and Itachi. I smirk. She catches on quickly. "Don't worry; his is a Shadow Clone, you wouldn't have been able to realize that as an Academy student. And me? Blood Clone."

"No fair!"

* * *

"Ne, Itachi, do you know any Fuinjutsu?" I ask, knowing his probable answer.

His kunai hit the targets with a _thunk_ as he pulls his arm back, all twenty-seven targets hit in the bulls-eye. I take a moment to appreciate the scenery, the scent of fresh air and forest woods wafting through the green of the trees and grass around us in the miniature clearing. "No?" He raises an eyebrow at my question as I shift in my place on the rock, feeling and probably looking much alike to a sun-bathing cat. "I'm thinking of having storage seals inscribed on my fingers. It would make pulling out and using weapons much easier." I explain, twirling my kunai in my hand before flicking my wrist, throwing the knife directly in the center of my connect-the-dot kunai portrait of the Hidden Leaf symbol. "That would be great, if only you could learn to throw anything but kunai, Tarubi-chan~." Shisui coos, twirling his kunai in hand as he appears from the shadows of the trees, forehead protector shining like a beacon in the light peeking through the canopy. He looks at Itachi's handiwork, admiring a perfect hit on each and every target. "You're very talented for your age." He comments as I roll onto my stomach, watching the familiar scene play out before my eyes. Itachi's mental state is declining at the moment. I've been keeping a close eye on him; never have I forgotten my goal. I'm glad I don't have to worry much about Shisui yet, but Itachi is taxing on his own. I'd met him too late to curb his meeting with Orochimaru, but I plan on confronting him very soon.

"I'm nothing compared to you, Shisui-san." Itachi replies as the two seem to forget my presence. I suppose I have the resiliency of fate and time to thank for that. "Oh, come on... what's wrong? The Academy bore you two so much that you're ditching?" Shisui questions us, surprising me a little. I smile, my heart warming a little. Of course they wouldn't forget about me- they're Itachi and Shisui. They're my friends, _real friends._ With them, I have nothing to fear. "We're not ditching." Itachi sniffs, able to avoid looking offended as I slide down the rock, catching myself before my head hits the ground before I stand. "We have stand-ins." I finish for Itachi who sulks, tossing another kunai at the targets. Shisui smiles wickedly. "That's my little minions! Now c'mere- I'll teach you a few tricks!"

The two of us crowd around Shisui, my sharingan activated as we stare at Shisui's hand before, to a normal eye, he pulls a kunai out of nowhere. He clenches it and it disappears, four appearing the second time he opens his hand. "That's incredibly annoying to learn." I scowl, my sharingan flickering off as Itachi attempts to do the same, getting it perfect the first time. I fumble with my kunai a little before I get it right, able to slide the kunai away from sight without nicking myself after seven minutes. "There's a lot of sleight of hand tricks that will help you later on. Are you still having trouble with your handsigns, Tarubi-chan?" Shisui asks, Itachi's eyes flickering to me. I grumble lightly, annoyed with the subject of the topic. "It's not my fault- handsigns draw my attention away- not help my concentrate." I state, miffed at Shisui's blatant exposure of my weakness. Since I can't learn handsigns, I take to clapping my hands like in prayer or just not using them at all- typically resulting in a perfect jutsu, but it drives Fugaku nuts that it technically makes the copying part of my sharingan useless for learning most jutsu. As long as I understand a jutsu, I can do it, but I can't just magically print out a jutsu like Itachi or Shisui can. Shisui hums. "Maybe it's a genetic thing?"

I shrug at his suggestion. I wouldn't know. I simply did what Hiruko told me to, and the Demon was never my mother in the first place, and I doubt she could tell me anything now. The poisonous chakra of the Kyuubi had killed her. I buried her with the graves of fireflies, the only part of the old Uchiha district to have survived. Now, completely abandoned with no one but me as the new crypt-keeper, it was more haunted by the spirits of dead, unknown soldiers than ever.

Shisui lets it drop as he shrugs, ruffling my already wild mane. I growl and swat at his hand, making him smirk. I'm beginning to look like Madara with my mop of hair- the only difference being that I'm much smaller and silver streaks blaze through my hair like brindling, the tips white. "Okay, okay! Try it while aiming at the targets now." Shisui advises, standing back as I aim to poke him in the ribs. Miffed at his dodge, I walk up next to Itachi and pull my empty hand back. Effortlessly, we strike our hands forward, four kunai in our respective palms in time to be launched in different directions. They all hit center-mark. I blink and look down at my hand. It's rough and calloused, smaller (obviously) than what my hand used to be. Five years ago, I could only dream to be able to use such a trick. But these hands? These hands don't crack and bleed. These hands don't singe and burn every time they're exposed to harsh soap and steam. I... am stronger now.

I flinch, the expected swarm of memories flooding my head. The fight had finished and our clones had dispelled, just as they had in the anime... oh no. From what my clone's memories recall, Hana also got caught up in the fight. I guess I owe her. "Ikou." I tell Itachi, walking away with him as Shisui tosses a kunai into the abused targets, glancing at us while we walk away. "Where're you two going?"

"We have to get back." Itachi explains, dusting his hands as I smile a little. Shisui's going to be mad when he realizes that since we're leaving, _he_ has to pick up all the left over kunai. "You do?" Shisui drones, his lip pouting a bit from my peripheral vision. Kawaii. Itachi is silent for a moment, before he suddenly stops. I don't look back, only stand still as I wait for him. What will I say? This is what will help form Itachi's future. What will Shisui say? Will he have changed with my prescence? "Shisui, Hotarubi..." Shisui looks up from his target. "Why is there fighting in life?" Itachi asks as I turn around, looking him in the eyes through my bangs. Shisui and I share a look before he takes initiative, taking a step forward with the most serious expression I've ever seen on his face in this life. "Who knows?" He says, opening his closed eyes as he stares past the darkness of the canopy that the leaves provide, his eyes focused on the light. "But... if the fighting can be stopped, I'd like to stop it." He announces, staring at us once more. "I think..." I begin, avoiding their gazes as I turn mine to the woods, something akin to perhaps shame from the _wrongness_ that I am. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be speaking. But... for once in my life, I wish to be _heard._ They won't filter my words. They won't condemn me for my speech. They won't treat me like a clueless child because they know I am _not._ If this is counted selfish, then it's the first selfish thing I've done. In this life and the last. "I think that conflict cannot be avoided." I say, confidence slowly rising in my throat as I look back at their intent faces, quiet and _listening._ "Conflict is needed if anyone wants to understand. As long as we have free will, conflict is the cost of that. But petty fights for the sake of wounded pride or a self-acclaimed righteousness?" I shake my head, my eyes _pulsing_ like they always do when I use the sharingan, deep, hidden and buried emotions of suppressed rage and sadness boiling behind my crimson-three tome orbs. "I will never stand by such a thing." I say with utmost clarity, never feeling more free and vulnerable as I have in this moment. Itachi is quiet, staring at the moss of the forest floor. "I think... I think I understand now. I agree, Shisui. Hotarubi." He announces, looking back up and smiling. I smile at his shared, albeit well-hidden embarrassment as he turns and jogs off towards the Academy. "Ja ne, Shisui."

"... see you later."

* * *

"Graduation?" Fugaku parrots with widened eyes as Itachi sits calmly while I bounce a heavy baby Sasuke on my hip. He was an ugly newborn, but he's the _cutest thing_ now. Minus the teething and the drooling he's doing on my white tank top. "After only a year in the Academy?" He breathes, lifting his arms as Mikoto takes off his vest and walks off to put it in the laundry. "The teacher says it's okay as long as both parents agree. They want to talk to you at school." He says, eyeing Sasuke who pinches my poor, poor nose. He seems almost possessive with the fact that I was just _sniffing_ the air for his mom's food. No wonder he's going to be such a jerk when he grows up. "I see..." Fugaku says, sitting down on the opposite side of the low table with a smile on his face. "That's my boy." He praises his eldest as Mikoto returns, drifting off to the other room to put away extra clothes as the beef stew on the stove rolls at a low boil. Sasuke wiggles and cries out in my arms, leaning towards his big brother. With a wry, bitter smile I let him go as he crawls over to him, pawing at his shirt. "Hotarubi, what will you be doing about the paperwork?" Itachi asks me, picking up Sasuke with a gentle smile while Fugaku blinks. Good going, Itachi. Bring it up in front of the clan head. "I'll be filling it out tonight." I huff, avoiding looking at the closet-dad extraordinaire to pick at the callouses on my toes. "Paperwork? You graduated too, Hotarubi?"

"Kind of. There aren't enough kids to shove me on a team with and having a fourth genin would only slow the team down, so I'm being apprenticed." I explain, looking up when I feel a bit less pensive. "That's only if I can find a kunoichi to teach me on pastime for missed Kunoichi Classes- said it was necessary before I can actually be taught." I tell him, feeling his eyes bore into my skin. Mikoto chooses _this exact time_ to return, smiling happily as she goes and stirs the ladle in the soup of heavenly deliciousness. "Mikoto." Fugaku calls out to her, making her turn around in questioning. Oh no. "Would you be willing to teach Hotarubi kunoichi lessons?" Mikoto equals Sasuke. Sasuke equals extreme emotional ties that lead to angst and unneeded drama later in my life. _Please, Mikoto. Please say nO-_ "Sure! Hota-chan has helped Itachi frequently and is a good friend to him, so I do believe that I owe her at least this." I sigh through my nose, my fate sealed as a giggling Sasuke bounces innocently in Itachi's arms. I bet the little booger is cackling on the inside at my misfortune, because close friend or not, if Mikoto offers you something, you _accept it._ Knowing her, training will be a huge hassle of neverending criticism of my horrible manners, even if she tolerates them daily. "Who will you be apprenticed to? Not many Jounin take an apprentice, so it must be quite an honor." Fugaku says as Mikoto leaves once more to return to the kitchen. She pours a steaming cup of green tea, gingerly placing them in the hands of Fugaku. I hesitate a little before telling him. "I'm not quite sure... but they say that should I have a tendency to _disappear,_ there will be no need for worry." I imply, meeting the sharp look that crosses Fugaku's eyes. To _disappear_ is a secret code used for Anbu. I don't know how he's going to react, but he seems to be responding well... on the outside, at least. Itachi senses the tension in the air and looks up from coddling Sasuke, his eyebrows knitting together as he mulls over my sentence. I don't expect him to figure it out- what stays in Anbu stays in Anbu, and those digging around it are thrown off with ease. Such is why Danzo remained undetected in his crimes for so many years. "I see. You've become a recruited shadow, then?"

"Aa." I respond, wincing when baby Sasuke leans over and tugs at my lion-esque hair. With him around, I'm definitely going to have to reign it in with a hair tie. "I see. That _is_ quite the honor." He says after mulling over it, and takes a long sip of his tea. And that was that. Itachi didn't seem happy in his inability to catch the unsaid memo, but he keeps quiet as he gently pries Sasuke's wandering hands out of my mane. Itachi breaks the mold before it infests the atmosphere as he begins talking to his father about his day. Fugaku nods and responds accordingly, laughing at the peculiar scenarios that his son had gotten into today. I listen half-heartedly as Itachi is clearly more enthralled with his father at the moment, while the same attention is given to me as a now free and dangerous mini-Sasuke tugs and swats at my dangling hair. I don't really mind, since I'm more tired and hungry than anything for Itachi to converse with me, and hair-pulling doesn't hurt all that much. It's nice and all, hearing Itachi's idle chatter, but...

I don't belong here.

"Gomen, Fugaku-san, Mikoto-senpai." I break Itachi's line of speech, causing all heads to turn to me. Gently, I pick up Sasuke and place him in Itachi's hand as he pulls away with a few strands of hair. Itachi takes him compliantly, confused and a bit obviously distressed as I stand and turn to leave. "But I need to get back..." To where? The crypt? That isn't a home. Do I have a home anymore? Graves aren't family. Especially graves without names or faces. Do I still have a family?

I walk to the door, tears stinging in my eyes. I don't want to think about it. I've been suppressing it- and I must do so again. I don't have the _time_ to cry. I don't have the time to sit and wait, I don't have the time to breathe. I need to sit still and look pretty, behave accordingly and cast away the Uchiha name. I need to become greater, stronger, faster, I need to become _useful._ Even if it means I have to- "You won't be eating with us?" Itachi calls to me, making me flinch in surprise. I turn and see his wide eyes, frowning face and and slumped, heavy shoulders. Sadness and warmth bloom in my heart, tears dried before they can be born as blood rushes to my cheeks. _That's right._

I close the sliding door shut and walk over to a distressed Itachi, unable to keep the small corners of my mouth from quirking up. Itachi watches with wide eyes as I raise my hand and tap his forehead, effectively freezing him in place. "Sorry, Itachi. Maybe next time." I turn around and walk out the door with a brief, last glance towards him and the little Sasuke pulling at his hair before leaping out, my feet thudding dully on the ground as I run through the Uchiha district, ignoring the cries of surprise and anger that arise when I speed past people. _Itachi is family._ The knowledge resounds in my head like a second breath, soothing the giant ache in my heart. That's why I'm preparing. Itachi is worth it.

I slow down, breathing lightly labored as I view the lights that spring up in my view, happiness exuding from the air. People chat amiably in the market street-side, families smile and laugh as their young ones point and joke. I walk with mirth and a particular energy as I see couples stroll along the Uchiha marketplace, whispers of contempt and distrust always within earshot as I pass by each and every single one of them, my smile growing wider and with more teeth ( _too many teeth, too, too many to count, teeth that aren't my own..._ ) as they stop and stare. Murmurs and scoffs bleeding into the squealing of a happy child, glares shot through the bright light of the red-lit lamps meant to ward away vile spirits and promote wellbeing, fists clenched and teeth, _teeth,_ clenching when I make eye contact. But that doesn't matter. No, none of this matters, not as long as I'm not the victim- _all of this for Itachi. tHey could all perish, I could PerIsh, all let'S Bow TO THe DeATh kinG, ComE, nOw, whIlE i sIng, bEfOrE EvEn I, thE rEAPer fAll tO OUr **knEEs, ALl fOr tHE dEAth kIng-**_

"That's a scary smile, right there." I jump and whirl to the side to see Shisui standing off to the side, hand on his hip and an obviously very, very unconvincing smile. I shift awkwardly, still a bit dazed and twitchy from... from my _episode._ He watches me like a raven, calmly, quietly, his eyes studying every movement with piercing, black eyes. It makes sense why he was able to make a contract with them- he was like them. Expressive but so very, very cautious. My numb tongue shifts as I lick my dry lips, nervous fear of being seen in such a state, especially Shisui, of all people, driving my mind to _speak._ to say something to keep away those prying eyes. I smile thinly, and I can feel my lips twitching at my unconvincing smile as Shisui waits from my view, muddled by strands of grey and black hair. "Don't I always look that way?" I joke, letting a thin chuckle crack through my dark, sultry voice. Shisui hums, tapping his chin as anxiety eats me up. "Hmm... nope! My Tarubi-chan always looks cute to me, even if she's scary to everyone else!" He chirps, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. My face flushes despite the off-put people around us, obviously not wanting to accept my prescnce, but unsure of what to make of Shisui. He's quite well-respected in this district, after all.

I look away and click my tongue, feeling my cheeks burn. "What's up with you referring to me with a 'my?' I'm not yours, idiot." Shisui doesn't seem affected at all by my words, in fact he seems more pleased than anything else. "Well, if Itachi-kun has Izumi and Sasuke-chan, I get you! Therefore, you're mine." He explains, patting my head that, thankfully, now reaches his shoulders. A squirt I am no longer. "I belong to nothing." Nothing but death itself. "That's a very childish thing for you to say even though you've already been a ninja for a while, Shisui." I chastise him, making his bottom lip jut out in a pout. "What's gotten into you? You're very cynical all of a sudden. Where'd my cute little Tarubi-chan go? Now I've got a nasty, grown-up version." Shisui teases, making me smile a little as I tear my eyes away from his lips that I hadn't realized I've been staring at. "Tch, this nasty version's here to stay. I've always been this way." Shisui laughs at my curt tone, but it does only a little to draw a small smile to my face. I'm still shaken from my psychopathic burst. I feel a bit better now that he's here, but paranoia is still crawling up my spine and shifting under my skin like a parasite ready to burst and devour me whole. I can feel the tiny feet scampering skin-deep, creeping, crawling...

"I know that! Guess I've just gotta warm you up!" Shisui exclaims before leaping on me. I squeak in surprise as his arms curl around my shoulders and he pulls me into himself, my face smashed into his chest. "Shisui!" I protest, my hands pressing against his pectorals as I try to push away, uncomfortable with the amount of closeness and heat he is exuding, but I'm only partially successful as his arms give a little, but he clenches harder immediately. I let out an _oof_ as my arms dangle at my sides, my cheek laid prone against his sternum. My head becomes as hot as a volcano as people on the street give us odd looks as they whisper and inch away, Shisui's heartbeat pounding in my ear like a gentle melody, the smooth, constant strokes- _like the hearts I devoured._

All warmth leaves my face as I go rigid, my vision morphing to the faces scrunched in excruciating pain, cries and sobs and desperate pleas cutting my ears of innocent faces-

"You have that face again." Shisui says, snapping me out of the vision before it gets worse as he tightens his hold on me. I sigh and fall into his warmth; his heart _still alive_ and beating in my ear. "Aa." I grunt, shifting my face into his chest, content though I have to breathe a little harder. I squish my arms between us to warm them as his hand combs through my hair, lulling me into wondrous contentment. It feels nice to forget.

"You should put your hair back sometime, it might get in the way on missions. Maybe it's also why you suck at shuriken." I huff at his jab at my skills, but take no offense as I dazedly gaze up at him when his burning hot hand cups my cheek, gently nudging me to look up. I comply as I peek at him with a barely opened eye, closing the other as his warm thumb trails across my temple, lifting aside the spiky bangs in his view. He tenses a little as he sees the scars, used to only seeing one on the corner of my mouth. Still, he doesn't stop his caresses, gently tracing the largest scar from my hairline to the middle of my cheek, just past the crease of my eye. I sigh and curl into him, closing my eyes as his warm, protective arms shield me from the world and my thoughts.

Maybe it's okay if I forget for a while.

* * *

I swing the entou-tachi at her again, the grip of both blades in my hands like extended limbs as she easily jumps above my scissor cut, her leg striking out like a viper's strike towards my head. I jump back to draw away, using the momentum to speed back forward as she draws her own katana, my left blade smashing into hers as I thrust the second forward to her abdomen. She grabs that wrist and I immediately plunge the sword into the earth, catapulting my body with it to send a foot into her stomach, our engaged blades screeching as I maneuver past them. She grunts as my attack connects, letting my wrist go to capture my offending foot and she wrenches my to the side towards the concrete wall. I arch my back as she tries to fillet my back mid-thrust, using my free blade to swing to slice her arm. In her momentum, it connects and it slices through her arm, revealing pink and red, furious flesh with quartz bones. I dispel the genjutsu and the arm turns into a halved log of typical substitution. I go sliding towards the wall, but I dig my newly freed blades into the ground as I skid, stopping me two feet from slamming into the stone.

My team looks on from the sidelines, Saru clapping, being the more open member as the other porcelain masks stare emptily. Our captain, Inu, is quiet as my opponent shunshins next to him, her blade neatly dented from contact with my entou-tachi. I tug the swords out of the ground, sliding them over my shoulders as they ring quietly in their sliding motion into their sheaths. I step over to join them, looking up to the mask with silver hair in a silent patience for approval. He nods to me and Tora. "You'll use the twin entou-tachi from now on. Tora, insight?" Tora shifts her vision to me, her purple hair sifting past the pale plaster. "You use them very naturally. I've noticed that your style is relentless and focused, but slightly reckless. That will have to be worked on, and you'll become more accustomed to using the blades in the future. I suggest buying a pair that are denser and ingrained into the hilt." She suggests as I nod, taking it all in and pleased at my own performance. Suzume grunts, crossing his arms as though displeased by Yugao's evaluation. I leer at him from my mask, and he stares back with his beaked mask defiantly. Inu nods. "Tora will continue to teach you kenjutsu before you're officially added to Team Ro's ranks. Saru, Suzume, a three-way match between us." Behind the mask, Kakashi orders, and we all give him our nods. "Hai, Taichou." The three of them shunshin to the adjacent field, immediately sending kunai and shuriken towards each other before anyone could shout 'begin.'

Tora turns towards me and unseals a second blade from the pocket of her Anbu-commission pants. "You catch on quickly. It's no wonder you've been recruited at such a young age, even younger than Inu-Taichou." She praises me, making me shrug a bit uncomfortably in the white vest. "In practicality, maybe. I'll probably never be able to beat Taichou or someone like Itachi in math or strategy." I try to draw out her disinterest, but it doesn't work as she prods. "Perhaps, but you're certainly worthwhile to any lucky teacher. Your ninjutsu stats at the academy were incredibly high- care to learn the Hazy Moon Night technique?"

* * *

Shisui squeezes my hand gently as I lick the strawberry popsicle. I part from the treat and lift it up just enough so that he gets a good bite into the top of it... with his front teeth. I grimace at that, oddly fascinated with how he could do that and not face the wrath of cold teeth. "That's disgusting." I openly voice my complaint, making him smirk as I grumble and gnaw at the icy treat with my molars. The sweet taste and chewy, juicy bits of sweet and sour strawberry bites on my tongue as the gentle, smoothie-like texture of the ice glides on my tongue. It's a beautiful day in Konoha terms- decently warm sunlight shining in the cerulean sky, light, lazy clouds being pushed along by an invisible force as the abandoned walkway by the lake heats under the mid-afternoon sun. The lake glistens and ripples, reflecting wavering images of the dark green leaves on the camphor and zelkova trees. "Ne, ne, Tarubi-chan, look at that!" Shisui whispers, pulling me behind a tree as I yelp in surprise. I growl at him but look in the direction of his fascination, my eyes widening when I see what he's gesturing at. It's Itachi and Izumi, sitting down at the tail end of the dock, a bad of mitarashi dango between them.

"Shisui, you're _genius."_ I crow quietly, a smirk on my face. We watch as Itachi eats the dango and Izumi prattles on in the distance. I don't even notice his hands on my waist or how Shisui's front is pressed flush to my back until his hot breath descends upon my neck, making me freeze. I notice his hands wrapped around my waist, his _hips-_ oh Lord. _Holy crap. I'm, like, five in this world. I shouldn't be thinking bad things. Bad thoughts, away! Away!_ I scream desperately in my mind as he presses even closer, and I can _feel_ body heat radiating on him. "Shisui, I'm gonna be squashed." I wheeze, panicking on the inside as I try to excoriate my highly _unneeded_ line of thought. "Oh. Oops!" He laments, stepping back as I breath in a breath of relief. He watches me intently as I turn and brush aside the branches of the shrub we're hiding behind. "Hey, Shisui, should we embarrass Itachi?" I don't receive an answer. "Shisui?" I repeat, looking behind myself to see Shisui staring intently at his hand. What's bothering him? "Are you alright?" I ask, shifting upright to stare at him, snapping him out of his reverie. "Huh? Oh, yeah. So we're gonna embarrass him?" He parrots my actions, shifting forward into the bush as Itachi and Izumi screech at a boy (I believe he's Tenma, a teammate of Itachi) for accusing them of flirting. I don't want to let Shisui get off so easily, but I let it drop for his favor's sake. He never prodded, so I won't either. "Hell yeah. Ready?" Shisui smirks wickedly and nods. "Go!" I shout, jumping out of the bush with him. Itachi whirls around and flings a shuriken at my head that I dodge as I cup my hands in front of my mouth. "Itachi and Izumi sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G~!" Me and Shisui croon, making Itachi's face turn a bloody red hue as Izumi's entire body flames at our song. "First comes the love, then comes the marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage!"

Itachi doesn't talk to us for a week after that.

* * *

The leaves rustle quietly, gentle wind blowing through the camp. It's pitch black here on the border of Cloud and Fire country. The ground is rocky with small patches of grass, the night sky lighting up the trees to cast haunting shadows through the limbs of the trees, stars the lamp as our guide. "Ookami. We begin on your mark." The communicator whispers in my ear, the static crackling the voice of Yoji. I tap my transmitter, careful to avoid the dark, thorny branches of the thicket. This is my first real mission as an Anbu member. We're here to attack a group of Kumogakure shinobi travelling too close to the border. "Aa." I respond, drawing my entou-tachi, the iridescent purple-black blade glinting in the moonlight, it's grey and yellow hilt gripped in my hand. I eye the group of shinobi before me, the night guard of their encampment alert with a bow strapped on his back, his black and white uniform like an armadillo's shell wrapped around him. I grab the second blade, silently aiming as he stands at the cue of a branch snapping, his back turned to me. "Hikenjutsu: Tsukikage." I whisper, a thread of chakra lacing my feet as I charge at him in shunshin speeds. With a quick lateral cut at his abdomen, I whirl past him as his top separates from the bottom, intestines bursting out and lining my blade with foul-scented acid. I don't look back as Saru decapitates him for extra measure with a kunai through the throat.

The carnage begins.

I sheath my right blade, using Shisui's sleight of hand technique to pull out four kunai, thrusting them in a burst of speed and precision as they cut through the windpipes of the sleeping shinobi like a hot knife to butter. I hear the clang and screeching of metal as Yugao and Kakashi engage the enemy that were alerted in their sleep. I bite down a gasp as my knees drag me backwards on instinct, the blade of a Kumo-nin decapitating the air where my neck was as I flip backwards, raising my entou-tachi as the enraged shinobi charges me with a tanto. He bears down hard on me, bloodlust rolling off of him in waves with a crave for the vengeance of his fallen comrades. I grunt as his whole weight comes crashing down on my arm holding the sword. I reach back and draw my second blade, leaping back as his blade crashes into the ground where I once stood.

I take this moment to evaluate him, seeing his large, bulky build and meaty forearms beneath the baggy clothing, his dark skin and hair like a wraith in the night. He holds a blade very similar to the Kubikiribocho, a long sword with a thick blade. Suddenly, I hear Kakashi call out the Greand Fireball technique and I snap my gaze to the source of heat, jumping back before it becomes barreling our way, the both of us separating. "Hikenjutsu: Hazy Moon Night!" I shout, raising both of my blades in the air, crossed as they descend in milliseconds, afterimages in their wake as I dart forward, sharingan flickering to life as the world around me blurs, chakra thrumming in my veins as I focus solely on the target, a shuriken entering my view as I duck and launch myself forward. He doesn't get time to turn around as my swords pierce him together in the cetner of his abdomen and I slick them outwards, slicing his stomach open as he drops in two bits.

The battle is over.

All is silent as the blood runs off of our blades, dropping to the ground as the moon is shadowed. Yugao flicks her blade as I sheath my entou-tachi. "Are you alright?" She asks, her hand landing on my shoulder. I flinch and she immediately drops her hand. "... I'll be fine. It was us or them." I bite out harshly, but Yugao nods in understanding. Kakashi looks over at us, my pale mask glowing in the wake of embers leftover from the fire, the previously silent bell tied to the ear of my mask chiming in the breeze. I nod to him but he doesn't respond, giving me a long, hard look through the mask. "We'll go over your mental state at headquarters. Move out." He commands, and we all disappear into the night.

* * *

"Hana, I have things to do." Hana groans. "You _always_ have something to do! You're a genin, for Pete's sake! Why are you so busy?"

I sigh.

"Hana, I'm in the middle of a session with Mikoto. Besides, I recieved a field promotion and upgraded to chunin." She gapes at me, her new, shiny headband shifting on her head. "What the hell?! And you didn't tell me?!" She chastises me and I groan as Mikoto returns, trying not to shift in the seiza position as she begins the rigorous tea ceremony. "I've been busy." Hana rolls her eyes at my excuse, openly wiggling uncomfortably on her shins in the formal position. Hana is a good friend, but she's costly to keep around. She loves finding me at the worst moments to pester me to hang out with her. "Would it make you feel better if I went out with you for ice cream or something next Sunday? As in the one after this one?" I ask her, graciously taking the hot tea from Mikoto with a deep bow, gracefully pulling the long, silky fabric of the ceremonial kimono back to take a sip, back poised just as I've been taught. Hana grins and nods vigorously. "That's good." She grins mischievously. "By the way, I saw you and Shisui walking together on Wednesday... sharing a popsicle... _together."_ She croons, her fanged grin growing wider with my growing dismay. Mikoto perks up her head from the corner of my eye, but I pay it no heed, instead glaring at the three Haimaru brothers who wag their tails and snicker amongst each other. "Nothing's going on with us." I reply stiffly, trying my hardest not to chug down the scalding liquid to get my mind off of it. "Denial is the clincher! You like him, don't you?"

I try not to bash my head on the table or groan aloud, _trying_ to focus on sitting still and looking pretty. "I'm five, Hana." I deadpan, ignoring the way her smile only grows wider. "Whatever. Age doesn't matter in the face of love!" She announces as I sigh, observing the way Mikoto's mouth twitches upwards in a smile. Hopefully, Hana wouldn't blab to the whole village about her epiphany.

And hopefully, Mikoto isn't getting any ideas.

* * *

I cough as he plants his fist in my stomach, the bitter taste of blood flooding my mouth as the red liquid splatters onto the floor and the chair. My head's ringing and my entire body stings and burns, my bones ache and everything around me feels _dead._ "Give us the coordinates." The man repeats, his light brown hair and green-hazel eyes boring into my own. The weight of chakra suppressants makes my skin feel like lead, my organs churning in grey slush in tandem with my muscles as I barely register the way he grabs the collar of my shirt, pain erupting in the back of my neck at the motion. Everything's bleary and grey, bleary and grey, bleary _andd grey. Why am I here?_

"Two, Eight, Six Six Seven Eight Six Five, Two, Eight, Six, Six Seven Eight Six Five..." I repeat, my tongue as heavy as an iron weight as my numb, formless lips form meaningless words. _Words? Words mean sssssomething, bleary, grey, bleary... what do they mean?_ I repeat it over and over as the man lights the oil on my skin aflame, the living demon selfishly consuming and eating away at my arms, my shoulder, my face, like the flames of hell... _The hell king._ I remember, the word popping into my head like a break in the night, a shining beacon that awakes me from my delirium, the pain magnifying and becoming _real_ again as I feel the flames _burngingburningburningburninGBURNINGGURN **INGBURNING-**_

 _All bow to the Hell King._

I find the chakra in my system, a deep, alien thread as revolting as mountains of corpses, festering with eyes and hearts and _still beating_ hearts, and _teeth,_ so many _teeth-_

"KAI!" I scream, ripping the parasite from my system, frigid air hitting my sweat-soaked skin. Tora rushes towards me, placing glowing green hands onto my skin to soothe the shock in my system, but I feel my chakra push and ebb against hers, it's memory fresh from the invasion. Inu walks towards me and places a hand on my shoulder, taking his mask off. I can't see his expression past the unfocused and doubled vision, but his hand pats me comfortingly on my shoulder ridge as the pounding in my ears settles, the unbearable heat from my sweat waning as Yugao gives up on healing me and instead brushes my body with a gentle wind-style jutsu. "Good job. You did well in the TRT." Kakashi tells me blandly as he stands back awkwardly, giving me my space. I don't respond, sitting up as Yugao places her hand between my shoulder blades and ushers a canister to my lips. I drink greedily, downing the cool liquid that contrasts the flames of my torture. It runs dry quickly and she takes it from me, leaving me on my own to sit up properly. I groan and roll my head, trying to get the heavy migraine to lessen. Suzume sighs and steps back, releasing his genjutsu handsigns. "You got through level nineteen. That's good enough, I guess." He offers, making Yugao roll her eyes. "She got through them lightning fast, that's enough to pass her immediately." She says, twirling the top onto the canteen as I stand, a little wobbly but I don't let them see it. "You're being assigned to Shisui Uchiha and Itachi Uchiha's training mission as a guard. Don't let them see or sense you." Kakashi says, handing me a mission scroll. I slide it open and glance over the contents, the gears in my head rolling. What happens here? I can't remember clearly... not good. Not good at all. I remember Anbu, Root, and that Shisui and Itachi are tracking someone... who? Why did those Root attack the Anbu? What happens afterwards? How does this affect Itachi? "They filed they'll be leaving for their training in a week. Prepare before Sunday."

"Hai, Taichou."

* * *

"I didn't picture you the type to eat jerky."

I hold back a groan as Shisui walks up to me, tossing the coins up to the counter as I purchase the packets of beef jerky. "I'm going on a mission." I tell him, passing the cashier the meat as he bags it up. I really don't need him near me- with Hana's teasing and my own, stupid teenage mind that doesn't match my age at all, dealing with him is not needed. He hums as I heft the bag of dried meat onto my shoulder, turning around and walking off to the convenience store. He follows me, tagging at my heel the whole while. "Why aren't you shopping in the district?" He inquires, eyeing the bags of staples and typical mission supplies, including water-purifying tablets. I glance at the village around us, tall building rectangular and square like an abstract painting around me as I am pricked by a small sense of nostalgia as I look at the Hokage monument. It was here when I realized I was in a new universe, isn't it? "I'm not wanted there." I respond, forcing my gaze away as I trudge on. Shisui picks up a bag that begins to slip off of my shoulder, giving me a nod as I smile a thanks to him. "But you live there, don't you?"

I go quiet. Shisui notices and frowns. "Hotarubi, where have you been living?" He prods, furrowing his eyebrows as I hurry ahead. I ignore his question, pursing my lips as I pry open the pawn shop door, the thin line of immaculate dust of the floor laying flat despite the miniature gale that enters with me. "Hotarubi, I'm being serious." He repeats, his voice growing deeper and losing it's playful undertone. I bite my top lip and gulp, reigning in my wavering resolve. "It's really none of your business." I just barely tap the cashier bell when Shisui drops my bag, gripping me on my shoulders whirls me around to face him. My hand that had flown to my kunai holster twitches and spams as I try not to stab him on reflex. "Hotarubi." All playful or bashful feelings are lost as he inches closer, concern and a bit of anger leaking into his face. "I get it if you don't want to tell me, but don't _ever_ say it's none of my business." He growls, making my eyes flutter to the floor as I bite my lower lip in shame. I should have known he would take my words harshly. Guilt stabs at my heart, shame speckling my face red as I can't find it in myself to look Shisui in the eyes. "I... I've been living in the crypt... sometimes. Otherwise, I just... sleep in the park..."

I feel Shisui's grip become a little tighter. He opens his mouth to speak, but a loud groan shuts him off. "Ugh. Take your lover's spats outside. Don't need that disgusting crap in my shop." The mussy, brown-haired shop owner spits, making Shisui jump and let go of me as if he'd been burned. "You're not even ten." He states, his black-ringed eyes bore into me, disgust lacing his face. Not at me, but my situation. It's... refreshing. "What are they teaching kids these days?" He mumbles, dropping himself onto his abused leather chair that appears to barely maintain itself, only holding form due to the copious amounts of duct tape on it. I smile at the vague nostalgia, twiddling my fingers lightly as Shisui gives him an incredulous look.

I can only hold his curiosity off for so long.

The King of Hell awaits.


	4. The Fall Arc: Failure

**HI GUYS! :D**

 **I'm back from the dead! Sorry this took so long-it was laziness on my part.**

 **Anyways, some news.**

 **Thank the Lovely Ms. Comfrey for BETA'ING this chapter! Yay! She's wonderful and very helpful in giving tips and improvements.**

 **Also, hehe... I'm gonna be printing out more books like a maniac. I can't help it- there are so many intriguing ideas to plumb! But yeah, keep na eye on my profile for new Naruto books and even some Boku no Hero Academia stories! I might even post from some different fandoms. If you like Jiraiya, be glad to note that I'll be posting a short Songfic for him called 'Hero of War' soon.**

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 **MANY REVIEWS= MORE AND LONGER AND BETTER CHAPTERS!**

"You need to grip the sword tighter when you're swinging when your opponent also holds a sword," Yugao instructs as she gulps three more huge swigs of water from the standard issue metal canteen.

I pout, huffing slightly as I join her, sipping water from my own canteen. Yugao smiles wryly and ruffles my hair. I make no move to stop her. With Shisui doing the same thing all the time, I'm used to it by now.

Over to the other side of the training field, I see Tenzou kick at the ground in frustration, tugging at his long, burr filled hair.

Ignoring Yugao's questioning gaze, I shove myself up and walk towards Tenzou with intent in my step. I catch his gaze and lift a kunai, making him tense.

"Come here," I say, sitting down on the log separating the two fields and gesturing to the area between my legs. "I'll cut your hair."

At my declaration he looks around helplessly for Kakashi, unused to anyone calling him over for anything quite so trivial. When he finally finds him lounging in the shade, the Hatake clan member merely waves dismissively at him, either not caring or just too lazy to give proper encouragement.

Stiffly, he trudges toward me and flops on the ground, back facing me, the hair on the back of his neck raised like his Anbu's namesake, Cat.

I gently comb my fingers through his long tresses, stifling a giggle at how funny he is. With a steady hand and memories from a forgotten world where scissors would be in my hand instead of a weapon for murder, I cut his hair, making it half as long as before.

He's quiet throughout the procedure as the humdrum of the rest of our team relaxes in the shade. Well, all but one… Quickly, I force back that memory.

After a second, I continue to carefully trim the ends down in layers, silken threads weaving through my rough fingers like water. Slowly, he relaxes, even going so far as to lean a bit into my touch. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I give Tenzou the attention he's been so starved of from Root, making sure to occasionally give his scalp a gentle caress that seems to soothe him, humming the symphony of "The Giving Tree" by Plain White T's.

"It's a bit unfair, you know." I tell him, cutting off my humming which makes him slouch a bit in disappointment, but he hides it well.

"What is unfair, Ōkami-san?" He asks, tilting his head as I gently press on his temple beside the mask to get the area above his ear.

"Your hair. You're prettier than a girl with it so long. It's even softer than mine." I explain.

I practically feel him wilt. "Girl..." He murmurs, distressed at the travesty surrounding his gender. I say nothing more as I continue humming, almost petting the content Root escapee beneath my work.

"Wait, Ōkami-san, are... are you a female?"

Tenzou finds a fist-sized bruise on his head the next day.

-.:;TGoF;:.-

I fall behind, slightly, as Itachi and Shisui run. We are high up in the shadows of the colossal Hashirama trees looming over them like vengeful shadows in the Forest of Death's kingdom.

The humidity in the air makes breathing in my mask hard and the lack of sunlight makes seeing a challenge. Moss and recent rainfall makes the branches perilous even on large branches mores than seven men wide.

They're looking for a fugitive, as I recall, and, in my opinion, are taking far too long. Still, with Shisui's recent promotion to Jounin, they're making good time; especially when you consider the locals.

On cue, a tan, brown-muddled serpent with size rivaling some of Orochimaru's snake summons launches out from the shadows of the overgrowth, fangs like swords bared wide and ready to sink into its victim's flesh. Shisui swings past it with ease, leaping away as Itachi faces it mid-jump.

He watches with disinterest as Itachi's katana finds itself in his hand, slicing the snake at the base of its cranium in a decapitating slice. Shisui lands on a lesser branch, Itachi mimicking the action as he lands while casting away the vine he'd used to swing on. I halt in my position in the trees, careful to keep the thrumming of my chakra in tune with the pulse of natural chakra within the wood that practically thrums with the life energy. I'm grateful for the chakra trees in the forest; they make masking my chakra within the atmosphere a breeze, especially since traces of Hashirama's presence still remains within the trees themselves, a calm, soothing aura that pulses gently within the cambium layer.

I wait patiently as they observe the area around themselves, dropping down to the roots of the trees that cover to majority of the populated areas. Boredom knocks at the back of my mind despite the thrill in my veins that makes my fingers twitch and skin itch to grab my blade, knowing of the conflict ahead.

It's slightly concerning, but within tolerance. A bit of battle-lust never did a shinobi any harm. Idle hands are the devil's playthings, after all.

I watch as they track down the path of their target, recognizing a broken stick as a decoy, I lift my mask up halfway, getting a sweet, refreshing breath of unpolluted air to breathe in the scents, closing my eyes to relax. I smell the noxious scent of spilling sap, copper from the blood of the serpent, chaff from splintered wood, the aroma of frangipani, the scent of plaster and metal, and... bingo, I've pinpointed their target's path. I don't have enough experience to tell immediately, but I would guess it's been about five hours as the scent's still fairly fresh. I place my mask back in place and open my eyes, looking over to Itachi and Shisu-

Oops. I lost them while I was sniffing the air. I sigh and shift my fingers together, the patterns of my Fuinjutsu tattoo thrumming under the black fabric. A small condensement of fog emerged from the air, gathering the water in the air closely together before it dispersed in a slow swoop, revealing my summon. Templeton raises his hand, his dark, bay fur shifting in the shade of the trees as he raises his horribly large head to me, the scales peeking out from his fur along his spine rattling as his blind eyes look up to me.

Templeton is one of the first chimeras I'd ever made, the leader of a strain of summons I'd created all on my own. He's a large sewer rat, about the size of an iguana with scaly feet and a long, whip-like blue-tipped tail like the skink I'd combined him with. His eyes are completely grey and cloudy- a blindness rebound that had occurred when I'd morphed his broken pieces together.

"Templeton, send a message to Konoha for me telling them of the current progress." I command, tying a small piece of paper around the navy collar on his neck. He doesn't bother to reply as he scampers off through the underbrush, the view around him distorting like heat waves coming off of a blacktop as he runs away.

I turn my head and follow the scent of Itachi and Shisui, allowing myself to drop to the forest floor to give me the security of stable, non-wood leverage as I burst forwards. I run until sunset, the golden sun casting rivers of light like honey on the grass, having long since reached the border of the Forest of Death. Now, the terrain is rocky, a place I now know as the canyon beside the border to River country.

I stop in a patch of trees near the cliff that borders the river and hide in the shadow of a boulder, observing the way the bright light reflects off of the river's rushing surface, the smooth stones slated against each other gently reflecting the evening's glow.

Itachi and Shisui are wading in the shallows, inspecting the rocks as the sun sets below the horizon, their voices a dull murmur in my ears as I keep them trained on the surroundings. I may be able to be lenient with keeping up with them, but when we're sitting ducks like this, it's not my job to slack off, no matter how bad I just want to lay down as enjoy the view. I blink at the unexpected thought. Has Anbu really changed me that much?

I shake my head to get rid of that train of thought, sitting down with my back to the rock as I eye the darkening skies, the last twinkle of sunset disappearing over the bleak horizon. The stars slowly appear one by one, their incandescent gleam bursting from the night sky brightly, outclassing the raging red fire created to cook fish recently caught by Shisui and Itachi.

I pulled a piece of dried and salted jerky out of my white medicine pouch given to me by Yugao, a sort of reward for completing my first mission. I nibble on the morsel, careful to keep an eye on my surroundings.

A rustling of the undergrowth sets me on edge, making me slam my mask back onto my face and probably bruising my nose as I sink into the rock with a half-formed rat seal, suppressing the chakra as much as possible now that the Hashirama trees are no longer in sight and creating a jutsu could alert Shisui or Itachi to my location. Templeton comes scurrying out, the scroll missing from his hind leg and tail whipping at the air temperamentally. I almost groan at the inherent jumpiness Anbu training has ingrained into me as I cancel the jutsu, stepping out of the rock to face an aggravated Templeton. He hates it when he has to run further than his summoning point and back, and, from his raised hackles, he's supremely pissed that he had to run to border patrols and back past the Forest of Death.

I almost sigh at his testy personality, knowing that almost none of the others are quite so irritable as him, but he's the fastest sprinter hybrid I have that wouldn't get into a fight with an animal in the Forest of Death or get tangled when flying in the branches. Despite his horrid personality, Templeton is a sneaky little rat-lizard and a good messenger. I allow him to dispel, a small cloud of condensed smoke whispering behind in his wake.

A loud clang of kunai crashing together breaks the silence as I immediately jump and whirl around to stand. Shisui and Itachi quickly burn their fire out, tossing the half-fried fish to the ground as we all dart towards the sound on instinct. I feel adrenaline pump through my body, blanketed by the stark unfeeling emotions that take over through the plaster of my alabaster Anbu mask.

A fellow Anbu crashes to the ground before Itachi and Shisui, a rip through his side and a circular cut around his calf tinged purple by what I can assume is poison. Shisui cuts the metal wire snaring his leg with his freshly unsheathed tanto, brandishing the silver blade towards the masked faces that appear from the shadows like phantoms. I dig for memories of this happening, a deep, foggy haze giving no details but reminding me that this injured Anbu is of use to the Hokage.

From what I remember, Shisui and Itachi get out of this just fine. My concerns should be of the Anbu; in this case, it is alright to put aside my mission since a higher one is currently at risk. With a bit of concentration, I flash through the handsigns and place my hand on the rocks, calling my chakra to gather and mold the earth. "Doton: Kage Bunshin." I whisper and the rocks underneath my hand rise as my chakra is deposited inside of it, forming a shadow clone.

I wipe the light sweat on the tips of my fingers between each other and the fabric gloves covering them, mind foggy from the heavy concentration of forming a jutsu outside of my element.

"Henge," it mumbled, hands in the Tiger sign as it morphed into the collapsed Anbu, red blood shadowed by maroon toxicity and the scent of oregano and sunshine appearing as the illusion masks it's appearance.

Clear with transmitted intent, it flashes away in a signless Replacement Technique as the injured comrade is shoved before me. Testament to Anbu training, he quiets down the gasp that threatens to rip through his lungs, the unexpected Replacement Technique leaving him woozy.

I involuntarily twitch when the clang of a kunai wipes out my replaced clone, my hand reaching into the white medic pack on my hip shocked with slight spasms at the instinct to grab a kunai and whirl it out at the assailants. I feel his feverish eyes burn into my through the slim holes on his mask as I wrap his arm with gauze in a hasty but firm fashion, ignoring the blood leaking through his vest on the back. "I need to- Lord Hokage..." he rasps, the arm holding him up shaking as I frown at the poison in his veins.

"I know," I cut him off, biting my thumb as I swipe it across the black tattoo on my inner wrist, placing my thumb to the ground. "I'll get you to him in no time. Ninja Art: Reverse Summoning Technique." I cut him off, letting a controlled stream of chakra enter the blood atop his tattoo, flashing him away to the Anbu Headquarters before he can reply.

My attention snaps back towards the fight going on beside my makeshift hiding spot, instantly mesmerized by Shisui's Shunshin and Bunshin attack. Shunshin no Shisui, his future moniker, suits him. Quickly, I activate my sharingan to track his movements, the gears whirling in my head at the faint afterimages and hazy forms of the clones. They appear as thin, transparent paper men cloaked in shadows of haze with streams of chakra flowing in each of them, divided perfectly and mimicking the chakra flow almost perfectly. To create such an intricate jutsu takes a lot of time, creativity, and concentration. Knowing this builds a wall of respect, awe, and fear surrounding my view of Shisui. I can't even copy it- the single handsign he uses is modified to his purposes alone. Maybe I'll try to learn it, some day. It would be wonderful when paired with the Hazy Moon Night Technique.

A sharp, loud whistle blows as a Jounin patrol squad appears on the edge of the cliffside, calling everyone's attention to it. The Root Anbu disappear in a flash, taking their fallen comrade courtesy of Itachi with them. I stand from my spot, layering myself with multitudes of tiny genjutsu, pretending to feel the softer, warmer skin form over mine, silkier, smoother, longer hair breaking free from their confines and cascading down my shoulders. I imagine the scent of lightning and fire, sunshine and dango wafting off of me as I step out into the open, henge'd into my new form.

"Oi, you two," I call out to them, making Shisui turn his head while Itachi whirls around and aims two

easily deflected shuriken at my head. I don't even have to say anything as I see the questioning and wariness in Itachi's eyes.

"You want us to forget what happened here," Shisui states before Itachi can call out to me, and I lift my head in confirmation.

"But-"

"Should this be revealed, greater seeds of conflict will arise," I say, deliberately being cryptic. My new voice dripped like honey, silencing Itachi. I turn to leave, but stop as something nags at my mind.

"Don't go digging too deep, little crow and weasel. Some roots in this forest are rotten from being in the dark for too long." I say before vanishing in a genjutsu of black clouds.

I remain in 'Anbu Mode' as I silently watch Shisui converse with the Jounin as Itachi contemplates my words and the happenings around him. Despite the cool fortress and concentration in my mind, I hear a bitterly consistent thought nagging at the back of my head.

 _I was SO cool._

* * *

"Hana, I swear I will murder you. In the dead of night. There won't even be a body left behind," I growl as Hana snickers, the literal barking in laughter of the Haimaru brothers only amplifying my embarrassment of the situation.

"Gye heh heh, just you wait until Mikoto-sama tells you the news!" she snickers, and I can swear in this moment that she looks more like a demonic cat than an Inuzuka with the devilish look on her face.

"News?" I grunt, poking the rib of a Haimaru triplet with my bare toes as he tries to get in my way, earning me a whimper and growl from the dethroned 'leader' of our vagabond pack.

"Yep!" Hana shouts, popping the 'P' at the end of her confirmation.

I raise my brow but don't attempt to wheedle the news from her. After all, that would only amuse her more, and I'll be dead before I encourage her horrible teasing.

"Hmph. Get lost, mutt. I've got things to do if my future is so full of surprises as you insist," Hana's face twinges in minute hurt, but she seems to wave it off as she tapers away from me towards another path on the busy Konoha marketplace that leads to the Uchiha compound. "Whatever, Bug-Butt."

I scowl at the horrible play on my name as she grins.

"See ya later!"

I huff through my nose in return, silence demanding me to keep quiet as tiredness rains over my head. As soon as she's gone, I wipe a heavy hand over my face, sighing into the cold, dry palm on my hand. I can still feel the blood crusted between the lines of my skin, the heavy, dead weight of the sword in my hand and the blank unfeeling in my heart.

Ever since joining the Anbu ranks, the void that was in me long before coming here has, in a sense, reappeared, become worse and worse. It's been small, but influential. Not only have I changed, but my memory is fading away.

My long term memory has always been a finicky thing, but today I could barely remember that the opposing Anbu were Root members. I need to create a chronologically correct timeline, profiles for every memorable ninja, theory from my original world and everything else of value. I need to rely on this information while it's available; otherwise, I won't be prepared for the future. Especially... especially if I...

I also need to distance myself from Shisui and Itachi. Shisui's too nosy and Itachi's aggravatingly perceptive. Hana's not too much of an issue, but if she remains so... chummy with me, it could pose an issue later on for my plans.

The marketplace fades from my sight as I get closer to the compound, the quiet road abandoned and silent. Up ahead I spot a group of shinobi, one of them with a shock of silver hair and the other with a horrifically green tracksuit. I shudder, dread filling me. Memory loss or not, no one can forget the horror that is Might Gai.

"Yosh! Let's head out for sweet dumplings!" he declares, fired up with the prospect of a delicious treat.

"No thanks, I don't like sweets," Kakashi shuts him down immediately, pushing off of the railing as he walks away. Towards me. My heart pounds with slight excitement because it's Kakashi Hatake and what girl in their right mind doesn't even slightly acknowledge his attractiveness? Sure, he's a total jerk and he isn't justified for it, but he is going through a really hard time. I don't have the right to judge him- the sun can't tell the moon that it's better. They both shine on their own times, and, right now, it's just not the time for him. He'll get better... and I want to help him.

"Kakashi-senpa-" He passes right by me, not even batting a lash, like I don't exist.

The sting in my heart is swallowed to the deep recesses of my mind as soon as it blooms in an ugly, yet enticing, red flower. I sigh through my nose, trying not to let my disappointment show as I trudge on towards the bridge. I have issues. Or maybe I'm just the issue? Well, it's official. I'now part of the group of sad people with emotional baggage that is mostly their own fault. Yay. I want to punch Obito before he screws everything over, give him a hug, and make him take therapy because of his hypocritical actions toward Kakashi and how Rin most certainly would not like to entertain his destructive plans.

I'm just a big pile of angst and travesties, aren't I?

"He gets more antisocial every day, doesn't he..." Gai grumbles as I approach to walk by casually, head hung with an overcast shadow at my social dejection and epiphany.

"Perhaps it's the secrecy that comes with Anbu..." Kurenai mumbles, making me glance towards her in surprise. Kakashi told them he is in Anbu? That's new. I don't remember that. Or maybe it isn't new? Perhaps I've forgotten it. And- oh my.

Asuma Sarutobi looks like a teenage junkie.

With his uncut stubble, droopy eyes, lazy posture and unkempt hair, he's the definition of a teen drug junkie in my world. Now, I may not be the most emotional of people nor do I care to typically divulge in the matter of one's looks, but...

This is freaking hilarious.

A wobbly, terse grin stretches across my face and I try so hard not to laugh even with the tiniest of tears poking out of my eyelids as I threaten to burst in laughter. But... his face. I let out a really loud snort that turns their faces to me as I walk a little faster, hand clamped on my mouth and body shaking. The thing is- I can't stop thinking about his rebellious personality and how he is totally a junkie. Silently panicking, I wind up practically crumpling to the ground as I rush to get away from the horrid source of amusement, but not before I hear Asuma mumble, "I swear, the Uchiha get more insane each passing day..."

* * *

"Hotarubi," the elder sniffs. I swear I don't mean it when I blink incredibly slowly in all efforts to stay awake from boredom of the humdrum having gone on this entire meeting.

"Hmm?" I grunt, and the scowl on his face deepens from a lack of a more... obedient and expectant reaction, for lack of better words.

This has been the tactic by which I have threatened off suitors and adopters for ages- complete disregard for standard 'Uchiha' etiquette. Thus, I failed Kunoichi classes on purpose, that vile brainwashing program meant to make housewives and baby breeders. It was littered with hints and traps to fool any weaker-minded children. Clever to weed out the weak and obtain kid machines, but horrid by passing over untapped potential and the fact that they tried to makes us baby breeders. My reasoning is that if Obito could pull it off, I sure as hell could too, consequences aside.

"Hotarubi, now that we have gone over the meticulous matters, it has become the time to call attention as to why you're here," I straighten slightly but don't alter my bored, careless expression. Frankly, I'm too tired to feel nervous or attentive. I have been, for quite a while. I really just want to go to sleep...

"It's upon the matter of your engagement," Fugaku intercedes, and my eyes flicker towards him as I struggle to actually care. Thus far, this is probably the fifty-sixth time I've been called to propose an engagement for me or to have an engagement thrown at me with the vigor of a dog breeder that can't get their pooch to stop attacking the opposite gender. Funny. This time they're probably going to try to get me to marry outside the clan despite their hesitance- more like loathing- of having the Uchiha bloodline 'tainted' by an outsider spouse.

"We have taken initiative after your failed... exploits to seek out a husband for you within the clan."

Not an outsider, then. Well, at least he's probably already denied their request- they're going to ask me to beg for him to take me as his wife, whoever he may be.

"And he's accepted the proposal."

I blink. What? In proper honesty, what sane Uchiha would want me? All of them are stiffs in one way or another and I've portrayed myself as cold, crude and a renegade of social hierarchy. The only person who's capable of standing me is Itachi and Sasuke, but Itachi is already a no because Fugaku was mortified at the prospect of having me as an in-law and already denied the council's past persuasions. Well, then there's... oh hell.

"Shisui has accepted you as his bride."

My jaw slackens beneath me as I struggle to keep my mouth shut. I just can't-

"You will be moving in with him this evening, of course, and the ceremony will be later, but we wish for you to get better acquainted beforehand despite your friendshi-"

I did everything. I tore the Uchiha crest from every bit of clothing I have. I removed every red and white object remotely resembling the Uchiwa fan. I disregarded the etiquette, officially joined Anbu to ditch kunoichi classes, fell asleep during meetings, everything I could to distance myself. I hurt Itachi and Shisui. I lied to them so that they wouldn't wander too close. And now? It's to waste. Shisui didn't tell me a single thing.

Want to know what makes it worse?

I don't care.

I can't feel anything.

"-and the date will be on the thirtieth, as discussed between us and her fiancé."

They talk on without me, as if I don't exist. I don't get mad. Why don't I get mad? I should be mad, but... I... just don't feel.

"You'll have to pardon me," I force out, almost choking on bile that rises with each word wrenched out from mouth that doesn't exist. Fugaku waves at me dismissively, giving me only a glance.

"Of course, you'll need this time to take your things to Shisui-san's house. I trust you know where it is?"

With a nod I shoot up and run away, words burning in my mind. Take your things to his house was his command. Was that a command? Perhaps I'm just trying to find something to do. No, I need something to do. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what I'm feeling. What is this? I don't like it. I want to crush something, but I don't at the same time.

I grab my father's scroll - the only non-Anbu possession I have - and dart to Shisui's house, turmoil and confusion whirling like a maelstrom in my mind. Not even caring to knock, I deactivate the seals on his house with a wave of my hand and toss the scroll on the couch, pacing back and forth on the hardwood floors. I stare at my feet as I walk in random patterns, voices ghosting across my ears- wrongWrOng- as my fingers tremble _(n **Ot** Acc **OrdIng tO** pl **An** )_ and feet stumble on invisible roots.

I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm o _kayImokayImokayno **tImokayImnotokayI** mnOtO **KAy-**_

-.:;TGoF;:.-

Shisui jumps across the roofs with a small smile on his face. He and Hotarubi are engaged. It was on the request of the elders, but it's okay. He doesn't mind Hotarubi unlike most other girls, and he'd rather marry someone he knows. They're young, sure, she's eleven and he's fourteen, but within two years and they'll be of acceptable legal age. Hana already told him that Hotarubi has a thing for him, so he supposes that Rubi-chan won't be too mad...

Okay, she's going to be livid.

Even at the prospect of her wrath, he knows that it's what is best for both of them. As far as he knows, Hotarubi is living off the old crypt and streets right now and doesn't have a proper home, however odd that may be with the prosperous earnings that come with Anbu prestige. Not only so, but if Hotarubi were to continue recklessly blowing off marriage proposals, she would wind up even more scorned by the clan or forced to marry a random stranger regardless of her opinion.

He doesn't want that for her.

His thoughts shake themselves off as he arrives at the small, but decently sized house he calls home, breathing in the scent of old wood. He notices his traps disarmed in the typical, haphazard style Hotarubi prefers, and mentally braces himself for a punch to the face as soon as he opens the door. Gathering his wits, he breathes in sharply and swings open the door, prepared for the fist that comes flying at his face-

Except it doesn't.

The house is eerily quiet despite Shisui being used to the silence. He slowly steps inside and reaches to his pocket, fingering the kunai in the pouch, muscles tense and breathing shallow. Nothing feels out of place- and that's what bothers him. He can feel Hotarubi's chakra in the air, just behind the wall to the living room, but it feels so... off. The house seems to have frozen in time, color drained from the edges and tips burned by silence. Quietly, carefully, he walks over to the living room, and gingerly slides open the door. "Hotarubi," he breathes, and he swears it feels like his last.

There, in the corner, Hotarubi lay. With unseeing eyes and slumped shoulders, she sits like an empty husk. She's living, but he's never seen her look so dead.


	5. The Fall Arc: Blurred Memories

**Hi guys! So, this chapter is something more just to fill in the blank period. It's not too important, but you'll want to pay attention to it for Shippuden arcs and a few other instances. You'll need to really pay attention because there is some really SERIOUS foreshadowing in here that will give you clues to future events.**

 **ALSO! My short fic 'Hero of War' for Jiraiya is published! Be sure to check it out!**

 **SPECIAL SPECIAL THANKS TO 'Meeeeee' (idk how many 'e's there are.) for such wonderful reviews! I legit had to take 10 mins to calm myself down since the blush on my face made me look like a Kushina-tomato. Very glad you also knew who Hiruko was! :D**

 **Also, I'll be doing an 'Ask the Character!' Thing so that every chapter, three questions for the characters can be submitted by you guys that you would love to know so be sure to ask someone anything! (Almost anything. I know you people on here can get weird.)**

 **Without further adieu,**

 **Enjoy!**

 **.:TGoF:.**

"Naru-chan, I think I'm gonna barf," She muses, threading the dandelion in his hair. It is almost ridiculous to her how bright his hair is- it almost literally outshines the sun. Naruto pouts and turns around to give her a concerned look with furrowed brow and scrunched nose. "Why, Ōkami-tan? You eat too much?"

"Quite the opposite, in fact," She tells him, patting his head as a small smile graces her features under the mask. "I'm afraid I hardly eat much of anything. Say, never grow old, Naru. You're far cuter this way." And she fully believes it. To see her childhood hero in all his baby fat and toddler wobbles and high-pitched _'Dattebayo!'_ s are wonderfully bittersweet. It's a deep, stark contrast that she can see from the Naruto she had been taught to pity. That Naruto was filled with rage and sorrows, while this one only knows pain. Pain, and longing, and a childish sort of greed found only in those young enough to have yet been contaminated by the darkness that comes with living this world, and, simply being human. That longing is what she hopes to fulfill, even if it's just a little bit. If she could take care of Itachi, Sasuke, and... and Shisui, couldn't she take care of Naruto, too? He's a lot easier to manage than the bratty (but darn adorable) Sasuke and the aggravatingly stiff Itachi.

"You should eat more, dattebayo! Howya gonna be a ninja if ya don't get big and strong?" He barks, jumping up and tossing out his arms, tensing them in a poor attempt to look buff. "You gotta be like me- tough!" He puffs his chest, cheeks rosy and full as his sapphire eyes glint in pride as she claps and 'oooh's in amused awe at his display. "Indeed, Naru-chan," She agrees, suspiciously lifting her arms as her eyes glint behind the mask in mischief, "but how tough are you when the tickle-monster attacks?"

With trained and blurring speed Hotarubi grapples the shocked Naruto, pulling him close into her lap as her fingers dance like spider legs along his sides. He squeals in delight and embarrassment as he thrashes in her grasp, his laughter bubbling through the air like rays of light brightening the area. Deciding to tease him a bit, she grabs him by his ankles and lifts him upside-down in the air, earning an indignant cry. "The tickle monster wants your money! Grrr! Gimme all you have, squirt!" She shakes him up and down carefully like on would a ketchup bottle that refuses to let loose ketchup as Naruto blubbers and giggles. "Never!" He decrees, his dangling hands reaching for her mask. "I shall deface you, dattebayo!" With a screech he makes grabby-arms towards her mask and she pulls away, just out of his reach. "Whoa there, tiger." She slowly lowers him down onto her lap so that he's splayed on his back, limbs dangling off her legs and spread-eagle. Pouting, he giggles when he relaxes as she ruffles his golden hair, lovingly caressing his temple.

The grass sways in the gentle wind in their moment, the sun beginning to leak onto the horizon like a saturated picture of the sunset, muddling the array of orange and yellow and purple like a galaxy of colors. The dandelions weaved into his hair seem to glow in the gleam of the ending sun, white powder-puffs and yellow buttercups in her hair a matching set to his. "I need to go, Naru-chan," she breaks the silence, voice low and soft as she delivers this news. His happy, peaceful face melts and his shining orbs dull with unshed tears, the smile on his jaw morphing to a mourning frown. It's almost alien to Hotarubi, to see so many emotions changing and birthing in this small child. She can't remember if she used to be the same way. Perhaps she never showed so much love and pain in one expression as he has so easily. She doesn't remember what life was like for herself back in the old world; far too lost in the schemes of old, vengeful and ambitious men and hateful, even older women. She buried the book in which she wrote her life and all she remembers the day Shisui and she were to become wedded. With her life, died her old self.

"Can't you stay?" He begs, voice shaky as he grabs her wrist, holding it to his chest. "No," she states, though she wishes she could stay in this Garden of Eden forever. Biting back his tears _because men don't cry_ and mustering up his lost voice, he looks to her with sadness and sorrow. "Sing to me before you go... Kaa-san?"

Something inside of her breaks.

"Sure." She says, because that's all she can do. It's as though he _knows._ And she hates it, she hates the world, and she loves every single last thing in it.

 _"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms."_

 _Shouts and yelling and crying, sisters huddled on a bed as she whispered them hopes, knowing she was lying-_

 _"But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and I cried."_

 _Waking up to a blurred sky and blurred faces; where were those lost feelings and places?_

 _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."_

 _A long lost sister, ebony locks, cars screaming on the highway and dogs barking, fire in the night and fireflies illuminating the dark-_

 _"You make me happy when skies are gray,_

 _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."_

 _A family broken, children scarred, she never knew life could hit this hard-_

 _"Please don't take my sunshine away."_

 _Parents' crime and innocence no longer mine, she left them a sign so that they'd know she still love them even when she hit the flat line-_

 _"I'll always love you and make you happy, as long as you stay the same."_

 _Distant friend, raven hair, knives whistling in the air, love left unsaid and a future painted red-_

 _"But if you leave me and love another, you'll regret it some day."_

 _A new child, toothless smile, love hoarded like dragon's gold but she feels her love running cold-_

 _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."_

 _Father ran away, left behind ruin and disease, funny how everything she loves runs away with ease-_

 _"You make me happy when skies are gray,_

 _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."_

 _Crow feathers and friendly smiles, love and comfort now separated by miles-_

 _"Please don't take my sunshine away."_

 _Flower by name and mutt by heart, love splits the loneliness and joy apart-_

 _"You told me once, dear, that you really loved me,_

 _And no one else could come between."_

 _Purple tresses and a scent like walnuts and citrus and a friend lost somewhere in the bitterness-_

 _"But you have left me and loved another, you have shattered all my dreams."_

 _Silence and fragile dreams shattered, love like a hateful spirit stares like a smile plastered-_

 _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."_

 _Golden hair and smile like the sun, oh, if only she could show him what it's like to feel the love of someone-_

 _"You make me happy when skies are gray,_

 _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."_

 _Ten thousand hearts in a bag and their bodies she'll drag, but for them her love doesn't flag-_

 _"Please don't take my sunshine away."_

 _Prayers sent to up above, but she knows that if she doesn't she will not love-_

 _"In my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me."_

 _So alone with mouth sowed shut, nothing but a pawn and a silent war's mutt-_

 _"When I awake my poor heart pains, so when you came back and make me happy, I'll forgive you, dear, and take all the blame."_

 _Chosen burden and heavy heart soaked with bleeding love hurting, black scapegoat sadness forever learning-_

 _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."_

 _Red eyes stealing and love leaking, wolf she be but inside a weakling-_

 _"You make me happy when skies are gray,_

 _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."_

 _Hanging tree and heaving soul, oh, how she prays but knows they'll never see-_

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

* * *

"I've finished, Sandaime-sama, Honorable Elders."

I place the parchment on the desk before them, unraveling it before their eyes. With scrunched brows they read my list on the paper, and with a scowl, Koharu speaks. "That Itachi? He's a nuisance!" He yells, glaring at me. "Be warned, Uchiha, we're not playing games of favorites here-"

"I know." I cut him off, ignoring the blatant distrust and rage on their features, absent on Hiruzen's face and carefully hidden suspicion in Danzo's gaze. "Every single person on here is listed after careful observation. For example," I point at Itachi's name and draw a connective line from him to Sasuke and Shisui. "Itachi has his little brother, who he loves more than anything. Sasuke is too young and alienated to have been influenced, and it's well-known that Itachi has refused any meetings at the Naka Shrine. He's perceptive enough not to try anything as long as we have a hold on his little brother- which we already have, since he's in the Academy." Homaru and Koharu's faces ease a little with my reasoning, but their silence suggests me to go on. "Secondly, Shisui Uchiha," I tap twice on his name. "His father was Kagami Uchiha, who was trusted by the Nidaime as his closest aide. With him as his father, no matter how young he was when he died, influenced him more than his clan ever can. Loyalty to the village is quite literally in his veins, and from what I've seen with even closer observation from our engagement, he poses no ill will to Konoha. My case for the younger children of the clan also stand on this as the clan doesn't rely on the younger generation for anything other than producing heirs and bringing honor."

As I explain my reasoning, the two elders' faces seem to shift to approval, and the Sandaime looks quite grateful and relieved.

His hands will be as red as mine, after all. A few shades make quite the difference.

"I object."

Of course he does.

Danzo glares at me from behind his closed eyes and bandage as he gains all of our attention, and I try not to see the red _red, red everywhere kingofhellapproaches,deathathisside-_

"If there are any survivors, chances are that they'll find out about this scheme and plot against us again once they grow older and stronger. It's an imperfect plan," he contests, making the elder's mood waver once more against me, though the Sandaime remains quiet and calm. "Indeed, that might happen." I relent, and like starving dogs, the two elders jump at my claim. "You fool!" Koharu hisses, her wrinkled face ugly like a dead man's sneer in the fire of the candle that flickers like a firefly light. "You think you can just-"

 ** _"Let me finish."_** I growl, letting my chakra coat my skin with malevolent intent as the two flinch back, a single sweat drop on the corner of Danzo's neck not unseen by my sharingan eyes, sick chakra boiling in his and my gut as we secretly threaten each other, hatred like a knife cutting the thick air mixed by both of our chakra, his whirling like a windstorm and mine rushing and slamming like earth and water. "They will not find out if I play my part correctly," I start again slowly, letting my oozing chakra slowly recede back beneath my skin and bones. "which I _will_ see through perfectly. And besides, it isn't just the Uchiha you have to worry about anyways. I haven't a doubt in my head that the Nara will have our little plot found out within a matter of days. Do you wish to massacre them, too?" I refute, crossing my arms as Danzo scowls at me. "Leaving a few survivors is far more believable. Plus, culling the entire clan will damage the village's power significantly. We can't leave ourselves without an entire clan that was a great part of our defense without a means to revive it."

Silence reigns at the end of my testimony as they brew over my words, a silent smile playing at the corner of the Sandaime's mouth.

 _I've won._

Subtly, I let my eyes wander to the corner in the ceiling with my sharingan blazing, a small, almost undetectable white pinprick of white Zetsu peeking out through the wood.

 _Hear that, Madara?_

* * *

"So, I hear you're engaged."

Tenzou sits beside me. Yugao's blade clatters to the floor as she stares at Tenzou in shock and dismay. "Oh my gosh Tenzou you can't just bring up underage engagement." She whispers, groaning as she sits on the ground and covers her eyes as though mourning the stupidity and ignorance in the universe.

Kakashi coughs in the background.

"I am." I establish, staring at Tenzou's face that mirrors mine with his usual blank look. "You won't be here anymore." He says, and if I was to indulge, I would dare say he says so sadly. "Yes. I won't be able to murder anyone anymore. Quite a shame." I hum, and the atmosphere shifts very quickly. Yugao looks up from her place on the ground, and I can see Kakashi peek at me over his favorite little book. Tenzou blinks and seems to digest my words. "I see."

* * *

"Sasuke, that's revolting."

He continues picking his nose.

"Seriously, Sasuke. What future murderer- _don't eat it! That's disgusting!"_

"It's _not!_ And I'm not gonna be a murderer- I'll be a shinobi, just like 'Tachi-nii!"

"Not much of a difference."

"Whatever! _You're_ disgusting!"

"... not untrue."

* * *

The dinner table is eerily quiet.

I sit and wait for him, sipping slowly at the bitter green tea I brewed. His lays cold at the other side of the table, still and permeating the sweet smell of a grand total of seven white sugar cubes melted inside it. _That's how he likes it best._ I think to myself, staring at the dark mahogany table. Shisui doesn't often take this long to come back, but... _Perhaps that's okay for now._

I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to _see_ him right now. I don't want to _think_ right now. Nothing, _anything._ I just want...

 _What do I want?_

Death? To be alone? To simply _stop?_ Time still ticks on; each second another reminder that I'll have to see him soon, that I'll have to _keep going,_ that I _can't stop, can't breathe-_

The clock ticks by idly and prominent as I wait, refusing to look at the food (shrimp, broccoli, bread, etc...) that's smell makes me want to puke, the thought of proper food a disgusting notion. Don't look, and _don't look._ I want to lie down in bed and hide in the covers with the lights shut out and just... _stop._

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick_ the clock ticks on, bile swimming in my stomach and ash on my tongue, disgusting and grey and black, black, _black_ _like the bodies burnt without their eyes--_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick._

He's late.

 _Tick, tick,_ _tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick_ a clock used to tick and tock in my room, too. Always tick-tocking and tocking and _tick, tick, tick, tick, tick--_

 _Until the line went flat._

Sharp pain snaps me out of my reverie, and my eyes are slowly drawn to look at NY clenched fist, oozing blood from wounds marred by glass. The clock no longer ticks, smashed beneath my hand. Slowly, dazed and disbelieving, I draw my hand from the debris. My hand shakes horribly and the blood vibrates with it. _Their_ _blood on your hands--_

Vomit rises in my throat and scorches my esophagus and spills onto my tongue. I clasp my uninjured hand to my mouth to hold in the overflowing acid, running to the sink as I let it all out, hacking and coughing and wretching. I turn the nozzle on to scorching hot and thrust my hand under it, biting my tongue to mute and sob as it burns my cuts, the throbbing pain increasing as my skin turns bright red. I scrub soap onto it immediately, scratching and scathing at the blood but it won't go away. I tear at my skin, peeling back the bleeding sores to get it off get it _off_ _getitofgetitOffgEtIt **O** Ffg **EtItOf** FticktickticktIcktI **c** kt_ ** _IcKtImEsrUnnIngOUt_ -**

Hands snatch my wrists and wrench me backwards and I panic and attack blindly kicking and writhing as I'm pinned to the floor and a legs push down my own. "Hotarubi!" A strong voice shouts, loud enough to snap me out of my berserk. My head slams back onto the wooden floors and my eyes connect with Shisui's. He doesn't say anything as I pant, never looking away from his calm, stern eyes. My heartbeat slows down and the thumping in my ears fades, muscles relaxing in exhaustion under him and his strong hold. He lets out a deep, relieved breath through his nose and closes his eyes. He lets go of my wrists that he held above my head, slowly trailing his fingers down my arms in a tantalizing way that makes my breath hitch in my throat. Numb and tired, I freeze under his tender scrutiny as he cups my the back of my head in his hand, easily threading his fingers through my hair and lifting my head. Shocked and unsure, I lay as still as a broken doll as his other palm lifts me up by the area between my shoulder blades. He leans forward towards my face, and a traitorous thought believes he's going to kiss me, but I know better. I know Shisui. He passes my face and buries his nose in the nape of my neck, pulling me close and cradling me in a hug. "I'm here," he whispers into my ear, his hot breath ghosting on my neck as he nuzzles my hair, breathing in my scent. "You're okay. It's going to be okay."

For a moment, I want to believe him.

I want to curl into him and cry, hold on and be sheltered from the storm. I want to let go and tell him what's to come and why and everything I've kept hidden. I want to enjoy his deep, beautiful scent of pine and stone, feel his soft hair again like I did so many years ago when we were still kids. I want to tell him those three words and never let go, I want to spend eternity in his love and feel wanted, needed. Heard. Loved. Adored. I want to tell him. I want to tell him 'I love you,' even if it's just once.

Shisui," I rasp, raising a single arm and clutching his Jounin vest, feeling his taut muscles melting under my touch, a shiver tugging his skin in waves.

I want to tell him.

 _But I can't._

"... you're late." He sinks in minute disappointment, sagging his hold of me in his arms. "Yeah," he croaks, pulling away with barely hidden sadness in his stoic Uchiha eyes. "mission ran later than I thought." My heart tugs in pain and regret, and I fight back the urge to grab out and tell him _I'm so sorry please I love you don't look away, don't let go._

 _But I don't._

He slowly lets me go, as though hesitating though he knows I can sit up just fine on my own. It's silent, and for a moment, that silence is the loudest thing in the world. The poison slowly sinks in again, festering and-- "Dinner is on the table." I break the quiet, looking down and gesturing to the table. Lips pulled thin, he nods and stands. I follow and make to leave, job completed and eager to _get away_ before I do anything else to worsen myself. As I open the oak door to leave the room, his voice rings out. "Will you be okay?"

I turn around and see him standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched and brows furrowed in worry, concern and _love_ burning in his eyes. It takes the breath from my lungs and for the first time in a long time, I'm left breathless. "... I have to be." I manage to squeeze out, turning and fleeing like a phantom past the door.

Unknown to me, Shisui crumples to the floor, hand clenching his heart.

 _"Aishiteru."_

 **.:TGoF:.**

"Naru-tan, never stop loving people, okay? It hurts you if you don't love, too."

I'm cradling this little Naruto (Not so little as before, now he takes up quite a portion in my lap) while staring at the cloudy sky up ahead, gray and heavy with foreboding tales of rain. Naruto scowls in my arms, tucking himself close as he rests his head on my breasts. I let him, knowing that he's far too young to have any impure intentions plus, as I quote from the ray of sunshine himself, they're super soft and comfy. Anything for Naruto, right? He had the luck of the cosmos in the future, after all. Might as well let him culture that now.

He'll need it.

"But why? They dun' like me, so I don't like 'em either, dattebayo!" He chirps his defiance, crossing his arms in what my old parents liked to call the 'homie hug.' I blink. _I remember that?_ It was very long ago, as I can recall (I was a teen when I died, and I'm ten now.) from my personal timeline. I can't remember which celebrity they named it after, or whether it was me or my older sister who pouted the same way. I'm grateful that I remember such a thing, anyways.

I give a quiet hum to his words and tug gently at his hair, making him look up at my unmasked face. "Well, if you don't love, then what are you?"

He blinks and tilts his head, looking back down at my hand he's been holding to play and mess around with. He scowls when his contemplation leads nowhere, squeezing my palm gently. "I'm _me,_ dattebayo. That's enough, right?" He exclaims, unpurposely haughty. Patiently, I try a different tactic to make him understand. "Well, what makes you _you?"_ I ask, tapping him on his head. He grins (if there's one thing I've learned and remembered from the Past, it's that peoples' favorite topic is always about themselves.) and takes a great, exaggerated breath and begins to boast. "Well, I'm super strong, dattebayo! I'm also super cool and can beat _anybody,_ dattebayo!" Beating his chest, he puffs up with pride. A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I tousle his hair. "Well, that's certainly _part_ of who you are, but not really what defines _you."_ He twists his face again, deflating as he grumps. "Then who am I, 'bayo?" He mumbles. "Well," I begin, carefully picking my words in a way he will understand, "awesomeness is part of who you are, but it's not what makes you yourself. Tell me, if someone says 'I love you,' but doesn't mean it, does that person truly love you? And if they do mean it, how can you or they, themselves know how much they love you?" pausing to gauge his reaction, seeing his pondering, I continue.

"We can never know what someone else is thinking, no matter how close you are because each and every single one of us is different. That's what makes us human. But that's not what makes _us._ We can never know what kind of people we are until we are dead, but we can know what keeps us alive. Why do we hate this? Why do we ignore that? It's all because of love. One can never be 'alive' without love. That's what separates us from plants, which live but cannot love, so technically, they are 'dead.' We hate because we love something else. Love and hate are not opposites; they are two sides of the same coin. Because we love, we hate. We hate because we love. The opposite of love is not hatred, but rather, indifference. The complete lack of love and _and_ hate. That's why plants and rocks are 'dead.' Animals feel something similar, and nin-animals have the understanding we do, but not the same capacity for love. They're still animals in the end, chakra or not. But many people are like us. A lot of us are moody people, quiet people, happy people; we are simultaneously the most unique and common creatures of all. That's why our personality and actions cannot define us. Only love can do that. Without love, we are the same as that meaningless 'I love you.'" I take a deep, long breath to ease my throbbing throat, voice tired from overuse and the old injury from so long ago. Looking back down, I see Naruto in a partially dead state, head practically steaming from the cogs rolling in his head. "I dun get it."

I roar out in laughter, throwing my head back as blood rushes to my cheeks, tears building at the corner of my eyes. Naruto cries out in indignation, a stream of 'cut it out!'s and 'I still don't get it!' and 'dattebayo!'s flung at me.

I hope I'll be able to laugh like this again one day.

 **.:TGoF:.**

Silence is deafening.

I slide on my Anbu vest and zip it up to the top, struggling slightly with the upper half of it, but I manage after a second of tucking a few things in. My blades cling slightly as I place them crossed on the sides of my hip. Wordlessly, I slide on my headband without glancing at the leaf symbol on it, slashed and charred from about ten years of use. I go to grab my mask, but something makes me stop as it stares back at me. Gently, I slide my fingers on it's perfectly smooth side, raised muzzle with a lackluster red jowl, red streaks going down from the ends of the slotted eye sockets, red streaks along the cheekbones like the red patterns of a big-top cap twin moons pointed downwards with a dot separating them and a mirroring crescent. "See you again, someday."

Maybe not in this life, but one day again.

I step away and turn briskly so that I can't look at it again, staggering at a halt to see the man standing before me.

"Going somewhere?" His lazy, husky voice asks behind his mask, muffled but ringing clear in the quiet air. I'm speechless (are there any words to say?) as I stare at him, his silver hair illuminated like glowing moonlight in the gentle moonbeams. I'm rendered dumb as we stand apart, my blade in hand and in his, a little, vibrant neon orange book. "Still reading that filth?" I ask, finding my voice again as I force the empty words out. He sighs exasperatedly, snapping the booklet shut. "It isn't _filth._ It's only _fluff._ Besides, you'll need something better than that to change the subject." He sits down on the bench in the middle of the gear room, patting the spot beside him. Stiffly, I walk over and sit down a good foot away, avoiding his gaze. Typically, Shisui would wait for me to grow tired of the silence, but Kakashi isn't as patient as him and much less willing to play that game.

"As I said," he scoots closer and I push away, our little play of cat and mouse ending as my back hits the surface of the lockers, his hands slamming the thin metal as the cage around me. His sharingan is blared and this would be a rather intimate position if he didn't have his tantō pressed on my neck. "are you going somewhere? You're not scheduled for a mission at this time of night."

I open my mouth but immediately snap it closed, hesitant to respond. I can't say the usual code for a secret mission ( _sorry, that's classified.)_ unless I want him to pick up on this scheme. He's smart- he'll connect the dots somewhere, and that's the last thing I need. "There's no need for your concern." I roughly shove his chest to push him away, standing stiffly and quickly speed walking towards the door. I never get that far as I tense and whirl around on instinct, resisting the urge to draw my blade as Kakashi slams me into the wall, wrists above my head. "You've always been a sneaky one," he clicks his tongue, grabbing hold of my chin and forcing me to look up at his spinning sharingan eye. "but I'm afraid that tongue of silver always falters when it comes to specific people." I feel the tug of his sharingan boring into me, attempting to make me confess, but I've spent too long with the real thing to be fooled so easily. "I'm hurt, _Captain."_ I purr, smirking cruelly at him as I harden my heart, "So I guess this makes us even."

I hit him on the back of the neck before he even registers what's happening, my clone dispelling with the Kawarimi technique as he slumps to the floor. I catch him before he hits his head, though. With the additional use of chakra to help out, I gently lay him down onto the bench.

 _"I'm sorry."_

I leave the room with a shunshin, quietly reappearing on the top of a telephone pole, form almost overshadowing the one who was supposed to be there. _"'And there shall be a great cry in Egypt, one of which the world has never seen.'"_ I quote in English, the words unpracticed and a bit clumsy, but clear and foreign in the air. I believe it was from the book of Exodus in which this happened. This isn't to the same scale, but it's certainly close enough for recognition.

 _The Uchiha will taste their blood tonight._


	6. The Fall Arc: Aftermath

**UGH. Fight scenes are a pain in my arse. I srsly need a beta who can deal with my incompetence in this. Also, 100 follows?! Whoa! Awesome, guys! ( this also means I'm squinting at the 78 of you who don't review e.e)**

 **ANYWAYS, HAPPY THANKSGIVING AND READ MY NOTE AT THE END!**

* * *

 **.:TGoF:. The Fall Arc- Aftermath**

* * *

It's a quiet, peaceful evening.

The summer crickets chirp and orchestrate their melodious, jovial tune. Fireflies light the darkening sky like intermittent stars twinkling in the sky, landing on plants and dark corners to give them their code of light. The wind rustles the tree branches in tandem with the baying of the crickets, green leaves swaying in the wind. It calms my nerves and numbs my soul, but my tongue rambles on in nervousness. A raven flits out from the shadows, landing on the old, weathered camphor tree. Its glazed, ruffled, black feathers stain the kaleidoscope sunset as it's beady black eyes stare down at me.

"One for sorrow," I mutter, bending down to scoop the dead fireflies and fallen glass of the carrier I lay at my feet. I'd gathered them for Naruto to see their light a while ago; he'd had his fun and gave them back to me before they'd died. In a matter of minutes, their lives fled themselves in my hands. It's a wry, ironic and cruel in humor that they died the moment I touched them. I gently shove them into the small pit, coating them with dust and dirt. I place a little stick cross on the grave of the fireflies, so out of place in this little grove in the woods where the old Uchiha cemetery lay. I don't know why I keep coming back here. The graves seem to whisper— a trick of the mind, most likely, but I still hear it. I can feel those buried, broken hearts still beating in the earth and their groans and pleas hushed by the wind, their eyes the fireflies that illuminate the dusk. It's bewitching, and I don't understand it. It's almost as though they're calling someone here; to remember. I can almost feel it, their final wish that has cursed this land and therefore me who was born in this land of the dead.

 _Don't forget. Don't forget us._

And to be honest, I'm afraid to. It's a silly, irrational fear like when one simply does _not_ like heights yet yearns to climb the tallest tree. I'm almost afraid that if I forget them, these ghosts of the past, that _I_ will be forgotten. That this world will disappear and everything will fall around me; that _I_ will no longer exist and I will have nowhere to turn and neither of my worlds will have ever been anything. As though everything will become... _nothing._ So, I pay my respects and utter the prayers for the dead here, knowing the exact number that will be added to their count. I know that even more voices will haunt me.

But now, it's time to gather them.

My mind is swamped with the whispering narrative as the sun's brilliant light of gold, orange and purples fall to the crimson lining of the dark night. The day is seduced beyond the horizon by the night, inky black staining the once colorful sky. No stars brighten the sky tonight; only a red moon to guide with borrowed light. The fireflies seem to notice this and they soar to the sky, flickering and twittering in reminiscence of the star-spangled night. "Tales of forgotten lore, thus came a knocking, a knocking at my chamber door." I wonder if the sky will always look this bright; if the moon will ever return to it's ivory state instead of the luminous and foreboding vermilion. "Thus quoth the raven; 'Nevermore.'"

 _Tandem and swaying, paen baying, midnight failing-_ I draw my sword, tainted steel gleaming fire in the red moonlight. I eye the people on the streets, a couple passing and two elders saying something about older times. Children coursing the streets and fresh, young Uchiha genin playing 'ninja fleets.' "Two for mirth," I mumble as the inky black raven shadows me, a second coming and landing beside him on the telephone pole; eerie, watching, waiting. They're all familiar faces, ones that have scowled and tongues that have scorned, eyes that have pierced and hands that have torn. They hate me. And I hate them.

 _But they don't deserve this._

I rush forward with emotionless mind and hollowed heart. Their eyes hardly widen when I make my first strike. _And he falls without a sound._ A scream penetrates the air at some point but it's just a distant sound as I rush forward and cut the throat of a young lady. The genin run up and try to stop me, kunai bared and faces scared as I sweep towards them like a demon, blade and hand a blur as I slice and slam, grappling in a harsh and controlled assault. It's brutal, but _efficient._ I snap the head backwards of a small child- _I'm so sorry-_ and his mother screams in rage as I swipe my sword upwards, silencing her forevermore. A kunai comes whistling through the air towards my face and I catch it with my left hand and throw it back in reverse. It catches the genin off-guard and it hits his liver. He sucks in a gasp but it's too late as my blade severs him from his body, head rolling down the street. _Off with his head,_ a muted memory rings, red clouding my vision and red staining my irises as the sharingan bleeds into my eyes. I sweep over his comrades, recognizing each of their faces _(all on the to-be killed)_ and with hardly a second thought, I cast them under the hell-viewing technique. As I pass them, they slit each other's throats with howls of rage.

Blood splatters the street as I massacre each and every single one of them, felling them with blade or illusion.

The rivers drain red with blood, but not a single speck imperfects my uniform. "Eyes, eyes, eyes of red! Eyes of red, you've lost your head~!" I sing in a childish voice, sick with myself _(what have I done?),_ reaching down and picking up the head of Fugaku Uchiha- _Imsosorrysorrysorrysorrry-_ and dig into the sockets of his eyes, red bleaching the skin under my nails and melting the skin on my bones like magma. _Ithurtsithurtsithurts-_ and like a flower, I pluck it from his head.

I sense a small chakra signal. It flutters in fear and uncertainty, but I immediately know who it is. With a twitch of my ear, I hear the rushed pattering of his feet and the sweep of his shadow.

 _The time has come._

The door is thrown open.

"Do you want to lose yours too, Sasuke-taan~?" I turn around and smile sweetly at the mortified child, wickedly curving my eyes like a vixen's as I hold his father's head. "Oh!" I say, looking at the head as though for the first time. _Sicksicksicksickstopstopstopnonono-_ "Since your father lost his, perhaps you can keep it~!"

I toss the decapitated head, the rolling gore slowing to a halt right in front of Sasuke. Hollow, black, empty eye-sockets stare back at him, bloody mouth stricken open with a ghoulish, silent scream. He shrieks and sobs, stepping backwards towards the door. "Oh~? Where are you going, Sasuke-tan? Don'tcha wanna be with your beloved parents?" I whisk towards him with a single step, grappling his hair and kneeing him in the stomach with a sickening _crack!_ Sasuke chokes on air as I toss him into the hallway, retching as his bile stains the dark wood boards and worsens the smell of death and feces. I raise my sword, deathly aware of the raging presence that comes my way and swipe down at Sasuke. I'm parried by a gleaming sword as it swipes at my head and I back away, flipping over and standing at ready.

"He's going nowhere but with me."

The shadowed figure appears behind him, hand protectively on his shoulder and katana brandished. Itachi pulls Sasuke behind him, never taking his sharingan off of my own. _ImsosorryImsosorry- "_ Oh my, a nuisance and his friend have appeared-" Iron whistles behind me, two shuriken with a third in their shadow blitzing towards me. Drawing a kunai, I hurtle it backwards and deflect them with a _clang._ I smirk as I turn around to see the one that makes the bile rise further in my throat, my stomach squelching painfully in my gut. "How nice of you to join us, Shisui-tan!"

"Cut it," he spits back, rage furrowing his brows with wakizashi pointed threateningly at me. "What do you think you're doing, Hotarubi?" I giggle at his response, void of any meaning as my stomach churns and my head hammers painfully in my skull. I fight back welling tears and speak clearly, loud and cheerful. "Why, I'm killing everyone, of course!"

He charges towards me, swinging a wide arc that leaves afterimages shimmering in the air. With a quick kawarimi, I replace myself with the shuriken from before and whip out my second blade as mine and his clash in a shower of sparks. We disengage as I jump back to avoid the swirling shuriken aimed at my head. Itachi strikes downwards at me with his sword and I dodge, leaning backwards and shifting as I make a stab for his gut. He leaps back to the left out of my range of motion and Shisui strikes, the hilt of his sword aimed to knock me out. I pull my head back sharply, the air where I was whirring from his blow. He lands and pivots, eyes sharingan red as we lock gazes. "Mangekyō sharingan!" He shouts and it snaps my attention onto him, a strong tugging sensation dragging me into an illusion as his chakra invades mine. I grin vilely, dispersing his chakra and devouring it with my own. His face morphs into shock as he sees my eyes wane and transform. "You aren't the only one with fancy party tricks."

* * *

 **.:TGoF:**

* * *

 _Hotarubi has the Mangekyō._

It's a haunting fact that swarms his mind and body as he sees her eyes change and bleed black and red until they bore into his; the eyes of the cursed. Her pattern is of Hecate's Wheel, stark red in an inverted pattern as the pinwheel and designs whirl in opposite directions. _How?_

He dodges a blow to the left, body-flickering to the other side of the room. He slashes at her, his afterimages circling around her with the leap. "Taking my moves, huh? Fair enough." She slashes all of them in a single wide-arced blow. They vanish in an instant and he's above her with his blade pointed to puncture her. She looks up and leaps away, sword clashing with his as he body-flickers in front of her. He swipes a kunai from his pouch and stabs her in the gut. She hisses and moves to limp away, but he strikes out with his leg and catches her, stumbling to the ground as he lands atop. He grunts against the force she up heaves against him and pushes all his weight down, pressing her double-sided blade into her neck. She growls and stares into his eyes, her sharingan spinning agitatedly when he doesn't meet her gaze. "Who did you kill, Hotarubi?!" He shouts, rage spilling into his voice with a roar trapped in his throat as he snaps his eyes to hers, Mangekyō locked in spiraling fury. "I've killed a lot of people," she snips, grinning wickedly in a smile that makes his stomach churn. _The audacity—_ "You'll have to specify!"

Chakra runs through her veins at lightning speeds as she shoots up, cannoning him off of her with a kick to his solar plexus. He regains footing quickly as they charge, swords clashing and burning as they counter each blow and slash. Sensing herself getting nowhere, for no matter how hard she try, she would never beat him in this game of swords as she leaps back and sheathes her sword. Shisui sees his opportunity as he darts forward. She flicks her wrist and spikes shoot out, scattering onto the floor with their spikes lit in the moon. His eyes dart to them and he sidesteps them in a flash, avoiding each jack with his eyes darting back and forth in nanoseconds, but it's enough to stall him for even a moment. "Katon: Bomb Blast Dance!" She exhales a stream of fire like a blowtorch as it coils out towards him in a spire, engulfing the floor and walls in flames as Shisui covers his eyes from the brilliant light. Closing his eyes he senses Hotarubi's form flickering past the flames and he casts out kunai, bringing his hands together in a great _CLAP!_ "Fuuton: Gale Palm!" His kunai shoot out at the speed of light with the blast of wind that smothers the flames as one embeds itself into Hotarubi's ribs. She gasps but clenches her teeth and runs on, grabbing the body and head of Fugaku. Appalled, Shisui watches as she disappears out the window in the veil of smoke, carrying the corpse and head in her arms. He grits his teeth and growls, digging his hand into his pocket as he jumps out in pursuit. He knocks the cap off of the flare he grabs and tugs the wire, shooting the flame high into the sky. Itachi and Sasuke slipped away while he'd kept her distracted, so Itachi should've taken Sasuke to a safe house by now; he'll come with backup.

With that out of the way, he focuses his efforts on catching Hotarubi. She's running at almost shunshine speeds, blurring slightly even in the light of his sharingan. She's almost impossible to catch with the way she seems to ghost through the walls; disappearing through an alley and reappearing on the other side like a ghost as she runs. She runs without sound with only a faint blast of wind shuddering the grass and fabrics on the fallen bodies. _Perhaps,_ he wonders dryly, _if she was capable of using that speed in combat, I would have died back there._ He almost wants to believe that it's on divine intervention that she's uncomfortably inflexible, especially for a ninja. She makes up for it, though. She really is the best at running away.

But he's not Shunshin no Shisui for play.

He digs into his pouch as he leaps into the trees in pursuit, popping a soldier pill in his mouth as chakra floods his system in an extra boost. She's cloaked in the darkness ahead of him but her silver tips are like beacons of light in his sharingan. In a burst of fine, concentrated chakra he propels forwards in a blur, clones of afterimages shimmering behind him. He draws his blade mid-air as he reappears behind her, swinging his blade to slice her heel. It hits and blood spurts forth as she falls, melting into a blob of red liquid. _Blood Clone._

He screeches to a stuttering halt, calling forth adhesive chakra as he skids across the bark. His sharingan searches wildly, darting between branches and leaves and creeping shadows.

She disappeared.

A glimmer of fiery red burns in the far distance in his peripheral vision followed by the tell-tale burst of chakra and he lurches forwards, not hesitating for a second. Hotarubi's not good at producing multiple clones- he doubts she'd use them to split her trails. She's much too cautious for that, but if Itachi's already run into her, using considerably proportionate jutsu isn't beyond her.

He runs as the forest slowly thins of trees, the undergrowth giving way to stones and rubble as he nears the Naka River. Itachi's Grand Fireball Jutsu blazes in the night sky, the red moon above a bloody crimson that reflects on the surface of the lake far below. Shisui stays back, safe in knowing that Hotarubi is not a sensor type, as she disappears under the earth to dodge the raging fireball. He monitors Itachi's sharingan, seeing his inability to see Hotarubi from the light his flame produces. He gathers chakra as soon as he sees her peek out from the ground, kunai raised to stab Itachi in the back. He flickers over in a blurring flash, sword drawn as Hotarubi makes eye contact with him just before he swipes at her, blood spraying as he hits his mark. Her eyes grow wide as her blood flows and she's cast backwards, pain erupting from her eyes and chest.

They land on the ground, panting. Her pupils are thin slits as she hisses in pain, the Mangekyō seeming frozen in time as Shisui glares at her from above, tired and _furious._ She raises her hand but he takes no chances, grappling a kunai from his pouch and puncturing it into her hand all the way to the hilt, driving it into the ground until only the ring shows. She tenses and screams, agony searing through her but he would feel sorry later- _This is not his Hotarubi._ " _Tell me!_ " He roars, twisting his sword in her chest, making her hitch and hiss, tears of blood running down her cheeks. "Who did you kill?! Why did you do this?! Hotarubi!" He lifts his sword and stabs her again in the shoulder, ignoring her shout as his vision turns red. _His family, his home, his future- gone._

 _ **All because of her.**_

"Heh," she coughs, blood gurgling out of her mouth and staining her teeth in a hellish sight, her gory grin burning the blood in his veins as she shamefully laughs. "Hotarubi..." Itachi whispers, his face scrunched in confusion and rage, the three tomes in his eyes spinning in despair as he sees his friend cackling on the ground, hysterical as she gleefully laughs. "Who woulda known? I wanted the sharingan. _All of it._ All for me... and here, you're taking it. Tsk, tsk, Shisui. Will you take mine too, Itachi-tan? But _no,_ not a murderer's eyes..." She giggles at Itachi, not even looking at Shusui. _It hurts._

"You don't get it, Hotarubi." He snarls, letting go of his sword in her chest as he grapples her neck, the skin turning blue and purple under his grasp. " _ **Who. Did. You. Kill?**_ " She turns silent, as though considering it. She lets out a noise of remembrance, as though just remembering that she'd murdered someone and a whole clan for her eyes. "Shisui, stop." Itachi shakes his shoulder, but his grip is tight as his eyes don't leave Hotarubi's form. His blood is hammering in her veins, red-hot and _burning because **why?**_ And suddenly, he stops. Isn't it _his_ fault? He'd seen the _look_ in her eyes. He'd _felt_ her growing distant. He'd _known_ something was off.

 _And neither did anything._

"Who else?" She asks him, her grin splitting wider as she bears her bloodied teeth, eyes wide in maniac glee. "That Inuzuka girl- Hana, y'know? Hey, how bad do you think her little brother's hurting? His mother? I bet they're all hurting right now, hee hee! I bet it's just _killing them."_ And Shisui _snaps. Everything his father worked for-_

He raises his sword, his eyes taking in every detail, burning her face into his memory. _Everything I ever loved-_ his sword descends, _gone._

She disappears in a puff of smoke and his sword sinks into a log, silence burning itself into him. He couldn't believe it. He doesn't want to. _Where is Hotarubi?_

Fire burns in his peripheral vision, but Shisui does nothing to register the scent of burning flesh. _Where is his Hotarubi?_ Itachi races forward, tantō drawn as Hotarubi wields handsigns at the speed of light, preparing for a jutsu that would undoubtedly devastate them. _One step faster_ is all Itachi needs as he pushes himself, legs burning and nose clogged from the scent of his father's melted corpse. _One second quicker-_

And Hotarubi's heart is pierced.

Blood trickles from the side of her mouth, numb as her eyes return to coal, dead and mechanical. Itachi's eyes _burn_ into hers, smoldering with rage as he rips his sword backwards out of her, making her stumble to the edge and he thrusts it forward again, holding her from falling by the barrel of his sword lodged in her heart. He draws closer, _rage_ boiling in his heart as black flames slowly ignite around him, a new trail of blood marking the opening of her new sharingan, _Mangekyō_ staring into coal. " _How dare you."_ His eyes are bleeding and the black flames are slowly devouring his _best frien- enemy. "You can hurt me, kill me."_ He lowers his blade a little, ignoring the roar of the rapids below her as she slowly slides off his blade, eyes never leaving his. _"You can-"_ He chokes, remembering his mother and father's faces- shattered. _Hollow. "break me,_ destroy _everything I_ _love. But don't you **dare** threaten my little brother." _

"Hah," she huffs, a tired smile on her face. It breaks something inside of Itachi and _he doesn't understand_ as she reaches out and gently caresses his cheek, combing her crusted, frail fingers through his mussed and greasy hair. "You always were a good big brother."

And with a gentle push, she falls to the abyss.

The black swallows her as she fades from his vision, red pulsing and _pain_ pulsing in his head. She falls and falls as the stars fade from her vision, the black taking everything in her eyes until she hits the water and a deafening roar invades her ears. She closes her eyes, tired. and weary as a little bit more blood leaks from her eyes. _"Izanagi."_

* * *

 **.:TGoF:.**

* * *

Hana decides that it _hurts._

She groans at the feeling of torn ligaments and soreness all over her body. Light and voices are what greet her the moment she registers by the comfortable mattress mushed beneath her, that she is _not_ at the training grounds where she's supposed to be. She peeks open her eyes, feeling blinded from the light as she squints and moans, forcefully pushing herself up. Hai whimpers and barks in the corner of her eye as she's suddenly tackled by Hai, Ma, and Ru. They're whining and wagging their tails as they crawl all over her and she happily pets them and hugs them, content to see her boys _okay._ Something tugs at her arm and she looks down to see an IV needle taped into her arm. Eyeing it disgustedly, she tugs it out and tosses her legs off of the bed, ripping away all of the other beeping adhesives (regretting it immediately, too- don't rip off a finger blood monitor if you ever go to the hospital, mind you-) as she inspects her damage. She's bandaged head to toe and has already reopened some wounds by moving, and the tugging skin on her left arm is completely numb from what she can guess are painkillers- had she been burned? She can hear a whole crowd of people running and yelling at each other, papers dropping, people knocking into each other. _Why's everyone so panicked?_ She moves to stand but vertigo slams into her and she tumbles backwards, her landing pillowed by a concerned and whimpering Haimaru brother. She groans and clutches her head, but suddenly— _remembers._

 _She was in the training grounds, practicing the Gatenga technique with Hai, Ma, and Ru. The area was pretty much wrecked, in her proud opinion. Property damage comes with being a proper ninja, after all. Trees were toppled over, the earth was torn and water from what was previously a stream muddied and sunk the dirt. The Haimaru brothers pant happily at her side, observing their handiwork with satisfaction. "Who're my good boys, eh?" She coos, patting their heads and mushing their head together. "Such good boy-" An explosion erupts the mud and earth beneath her, flinging her and the trio away. She blacks out for a second before she comes back, ears ringing and vision blurry. Hana staggers to stand, her knees begging to buckle and cave as adrenaline from shock invades her body. She glances behind her to see the Haimaru brothers scratched and disoriented but_ alive. _"I just_ love _explosives, don't you?" A voice hums and Hana blearily snaps her eyes to the vague figure in the moonlight, cloaked by dark hair like a veil of darkness in the moonlight. "Just put up a barrier to break the sound and voila! A wonderful assassination tool, don't you think?"_

 _"Haimaru, manji formation!" Hana commands, rushing forward in the center of the triangle of dogs. There's no time to think— she has to protect the village! "Gatenga!" She roars, lurching forward in a frontal assault that makes them whir into saw blades tearing apart the earth. She bolts towards the target, her vision blurry as she feels and hears the soft_ squelch _of flesh and guts churning beneath her claws. She runs through the intruder and rolls out the other side, panting and tired as she wipes a splatter of blood from her cheek. The Haimaru brothers land beside her, hackles raised and teeth stained red. There's a haze of dirt and ruins before them where it once was, but..._

 _Where's the body?_

 _"Not good enough!" A shout snaps her attention away from the pile of mush to find the dogs toppled to the ground as a face appears before hers, smile so wide it splits its skull. Red eyes and a black, malformed pupil bore into her, slowly bleeding red as—_

 _Her chest bursts open, pain searing through her whole body and scorching her nerves and the blade runs through her heart. She feels the warmth slowly leave her body as everything slowly gets heavier and her eyelids grow so heavy, but those demonic, red bleeding eyes keep_ staring _at her. "Ho..." she chokes, blood taunting her tongue as she coughs, the strength slowly leaving her body as she falls off the tip of the blade and the eyes morph, slowly changing beyond the sharingan she once knew into something monstrous. "Hotarubi..?"_

 _"Good night, Hana."_

 _Tears well out of her eyes, her broken heart twisting ruefully with betrayal and confusion. "Wh... y?" Her vision goes black, and her mind struggles, wanting to see the one she called her eyes best friend, her sister, her_ family. _But it's too late. Her world turns black._

 _Hotarubi withdraws her blade from the heart of her best friend, soul screaming in agony as she listlessly looks at the dead form of her family. "I'm sorry, Hana." Her Mangekyō eyes whirl slowly, power building as pain rages behind her eyes and tears away at her nerves. "Jurōjin."_

"Jurōjin," She echoes, the word haunting her mind and memory that replays without end. What is the Jurōjin? Why did Hotarubi say that? _And what happened to her eyes?_ Hai whimpers and nudges Hana's arm, sensing the distress rolling off of her in waves. Feeling the gross, cold nose singe her arm jolts her out of her thoughts to see the worried look on her team's faces. "Thanks, buddy," she mumbles and ruffles his head, earning a happy whimper and a few sloppy kisses. She snorts through her nose and revels in the small moment of happiness, gratitude for such a wonderful partner soaring in her heart. The door suddenly slams open, making Hana jump as her mother and a stalking black dog rush into the room. "Hana!" Tsume barks, her teeth curled into a snarl. Hana's hair stands on end and she starts sweating buckets, trembling as the brothers whimper and huddle behind her in fear of the woman who chased off even her own husband. "How dare you lose to that intruder! Look at you! You're all beaten up! How're you gonna get back at 'em?!" Tsume prattles and grabs Hana's shoulders, embracing her closely. "Haha, don't worry, mom." Hana laughs shakily, wrapping her arms around her mother. She breathes in her scent of home and dogs, her little brother and paprika peppers. It's homely and comforting, and the warmth and the security of being wrapped up in her mother's strong, kind arms heats her up inside and calms her down, slowly melting away all of the panic confusion racing in her. Tsume seems to understand, course as a woman as she is, and stays with her like that for a while, gingerly combing her calloused fingers through Hana's soft and silky tresses.

Her mom's not the best at comforting her, but Hana believes her own, special kind of love is just what she needs.

 _Did Hotarubi ever feel this kind of love?_

"Mom," She croaks, her voice a bit hoarse as she gingerly pulls away to look into Tsume's eyes, worry and fear swirling in her chocolate orbs. "What happened?"

She's so confused. Why're there bodies out there? Why are they all Uchiha? Why are they all hurt? Was there an attack on the village? What about Hotarubi? What's going-

Tsume sucks in a breath and sighs exasperatedly; because of the state of affairs or the gears running overtime in her frazzled daughter's head, she doesn't quite know anymore. With a flick to her forehead, she snaps Hana out of her reverie with a scowl. "Focus, idiot," she scolds Hana, who has the decency to look a bit sheepish through her anxiety. "In a quick summary, the Uchiha were attacked." Tsume crosses her arms are huffs, her forehead creased from stress and overtime with the mess that unfolded late in the night. " _What?!"_ Hana screeches, lurching forward on the hospital sheets and accidentally shoving a Haimaru brother onto the tile floor with a loud _yelp!_ Tsume growls at the ringing in her ears from Hana's ear-splitting octave, aggravated beyond her own belief. " _Hana,_ " She snarls, her eyes glinting as hours of sleeplessness and work syndrome pound in her head with the force of seven migranes, " _keep. Your. Voice. Down."_

Hana laments as she bows her head down in submission and picks up the affronted pup, apologetically stroking his head though millions of thoughts are shooting through hers. Tsume doesn't regret snapping a little. Hana's a soldier now; she needs to keep her cool and listen up, regardless of whoever is debriefing her. "The perpetrator was Hotarubi Uchiha-" Tsume snaps a palm up in the air to silence the rapid protest rising on Hana's face, and she's subdued as she closes her mouth again. "- and the casualties were heavy. Over half the clan, leaving only the young and the occasional teen or elderly. Anyone of considering middle-age or a senior was murdered." The words hang like a heavy, thick smog in the air, and Hana can feel the poison slowly clog up her throat. "Clean-up is already taken care of, and anyone harmed during the incident is being taken care of here at the hospital; like you," Tsume explains, watching as Hana's face gradually sinks to be grimmer and grimmer as she rattles off the words. "But unlike you, they are a common victim in the case; they're all Uchiha- except for you." Tsume leans back and grabs a chair lined up next to the curtained window, slouching forward and resting her elbows on her knees. Hana suddenly understands why she's not getting a rest period.

She's under suspicion.

"So, I'm here to get an unofficial mission report from you," Tsume finalizes, propping her chin on the heel of her palm. She stares seemingly lazily at Hana, but Hana can feel the sharp and calculating undertone gleaming in the black slits of her eyes. "So, tell me," She drawls, tapping her chin with a delicately tapered nail that's ripped more than a hundred shinobi's throats out before they could blink. "What did my daughter do to be the target of a criminal?"

Hana gulps, her throat raw and dry as she digests the words that churn and roll in her stomach like spiked stones. Her mouth is oddly dry, and her voice comes out only as a faint wheeze when she tries to speak. Her bones feel like lead and the world feels distant; unreal. Still, she forces the words out one by one, rambling in some instances where Tsume seems bored or impatient. Her mother nods along the way, asking a few questions on the finer details of her story but doesn't push her to hurry when she stumbles. It's over sooner than Hana felt it took to report, five minutes tops, but it had felt like an eternity to go over the betrayal once more in slow, agonizing detail.

Tsume pats her shoulder when Hana finishes and stands, cracking her back as she readies to leave. "Any questions?" Tsume asks Hana before she pushes the door open, halting the massive malamute at her side. Hana gapes for a second, trying to grasp her own words before croaking, "What... what is _Jurōjin?"_

"... Jurōjin is the name of one of the seven taoist gods of fortune. He's also known as the 'immortal.' We don't know exactly why she would mention such a thing to you," Tsume says with a sigh, creaking the door open as her partner nudges it with his nose. "But, it's possible it has something to do with the state they found you in." "State?" Hana questions, knitting her eyebrows together. "Yup," Tsume grunts, stepping outside as the door closes behind her. "By all rights, you should've been dead."

* * *

 **.:;TGoF;:.**

* * *

Shisui is as silent as the grave as he bends down to look at the ashes of Fugaku Uchiha. Forensics are scattered around the scene of the Naka River cliffside, cameras shuttering and flashing as they cover each battle blemish on the stones. He reaches out and scoops up the leftover soot, the smooth grains gliding and rolling between his fingers as he inspects the black and silvery substance. It feels like satin and silk, but the scent of burnt corpse and cloth is unmistakable. But that isn't what's important to Shisui. By this point, he doesn't care about _how_ or _what next._

He only wants to know _why._

That night, nothing felt right. He remembers everything so clearly; arriving home to an empty house, smelling then _seeing_ the genocide on the streets, fighting Hota... _her,_ Fugaku's dead body burning, Itachi, Sasuke... _her_ death. He was there, but he wasn't at the same time. The memories feel glossed over; as though someone printed a cheap copy of them in place of the real thing. It feels like he'd taken a hallucinogen where he's fully lucid, but not _in control_. The druggies he'd brought in for rehab in his years as a chunin were very avid in talking about their experiences, but no matter how many parallels he draws between that night and both he and Itachi's agreement on the dream-like qualities of their actions, it simply doesn't add up. There's no drug that creates such an effect as the one he and Itachi felt that night, and no one could have drugged them at any point in time recently. He'd just gotten back from another mission, and Itachi had been eating dinner with his family...

And speaking of such, that brings up another inconsistency. _Why burn Fugaku's body?_ According to casualty reports, all KIA were killed with an entou-tachi blade or a genjutsu-induced death. None were burned or showed any signs of complete annihilation. Could Fugaku have had anything to do with the massacre and the hallucogenic state of he and Itachi?

Shisui taps his chin and considers it, the gears in his head grinding rapidly as something _clicks._ He knows the answer.

Yes, Fugaku Uchiha had something to do with the massacre.

He's not sure why, and Itachi's probably not up to divulging on the matter, but the two had grown distant. Itachi and Fugaku stopped getting along at some point, a few months or a year before last night. That's not all, though, now that he thinks about it. Hotarubi was trained by Fugaku at some point, as well. Could there have been a manipulation of Fugaku's part or an alliance of sorts? A scheme?

 _No,_ he realizes, _Fugaku cares too much for the clan._ Fugaku's only goal has ever been the clan, and he's never shown any signs of malevolence towards anyone in the clan unless _she_ had played another horrid prank- like the time she fished and ate the koi pond's prized carp. He almost snorts at the memory, but the fresh experiences from last night have dulled any sense of humor he has now. Another reason as to why Fugaku was probably just another victim is that he, too, in the end was killed, but that raises even more questions in Shisui's mind.

How was Hotarubi (as skilled and clever as she was,) capable of killing all able-bodied men and women within the clan, besides only the weakest and most unassuming? How was she able to remain undected to go so far in Anbu attire, massacring civilians and comrades alike?

It doesn't make sense.

But he'll get to the bottom of it. If not for himself...

"Then for you," He whispers, looking at the lonely river down the cliff, rushing and moaning as though it, too, is mourning. "For you, Hotarubi."

For _her._ Because, no matter how subtle and sneaky she was, she could never lie properly to the ones she loved the most.

 _Her_ face, as she'd fallen, had said it all.

 _"I'm sorry."_

* * *

Itachi sighs as another wailing baby pierces through the orchestra of several other screeching infants. Tenderly, he bounces Sasuke in his arms and pulls his head in close. The iryo-nin at the front desk looks just as tired and exasperated as he, ten years' worth of stress having grown on his already well-aged face. "This looks like the war hospital from long ago," he mumbles as he sifts through the piled documents in the drawer, searching for a release sheet of Itachi. "I looked just like you- carrying my baby brother like that." He hands Itachi the release form, eyeing the fearful Sasuke with pity as his tiny fists are still clenched on Itachi's shirt with an iron grip. Itachi nods gratefully and signs it as briefly as possible, sliding it back to the unnamed helper. "Alright, son. You best be on your way, I've got a line a-waitin' with grumpy elders much less polite than you," the man waves him off with a single hand, and with a bow, Itachi leaves the hospital lobby with eager haste.

It proves to be a bit hairier to get through the main streets with the sheer herds of people flocking to the two, bowing their heads and offering empty condolences. Itachi nods and thanks them all, pushing away the growing anger at the people that _just can't leave them alone-_ he darts away from another incoming flock of people, clutching Sasuke close as he runs through a maze of side-roofs and back alley ways, making a sudden left turn into an unknown store and slamming the door shut, ignoring the loud clanging of the bells overhead. He rushes to the blinds of the store's window and glass door and immediately shuts all of the shutters, juggling Sasuke with a single arm now. He takes a moment to peek out of the closed blinds, seeing nothing but seedy shops and casual passerbys gossiping on their walk along the road.

With a relieved sigh, he slumps back on the old wooden wall and curls a shaking Sasuke closer to him, shushing him gently as he pats his head and looks around. The shop is somehow covered with layers of dust despite the ruckus he'd made upon entering, and the battered bells that'd screamed his arrival still jingle slightly from his wake- but it seems that his presence has disturbed more than the setting. "Who's there, you dam-?!" A drunken man bursts from the behind-counter door, hand with a knife swaying around in crazed patterns before his eyes land on Itachi and Sasuke. Sasuke whimpers and curls into Itachi, and his eyes narrow at the drunken brunet. "A ffuucc-" he slurs, pushing his hair back as the senbon in his mouth swirls. "yoouuuu'reee Uchhiahaa, righ?" He barks, and Itachi nods absently, eyeing the Jounin vest he's wearing. "Hum. Hmmm..." the man squints at them really hard, glaring at the ball of Sasuke. "You'reea friends with the brat," he says with sudden clarity, leaving Itachi to wonder who the 'brat' is, but the man before him seems to have suddenly sobered up quite a bit. "Right. Right, yeah. Uh, what again? Oh. Right. Yeah. Come with me, you twooo-" he turns and stumbles into an old patched chair, grappling the wall before he topples over. "I gotta place in tha back you can use for tonight, courtesy of the brat. Name's Genma, by the way, but that's Genma-sama to yoouu, brat." He points a wobbly finger at Itachi and then to the door he'd nearly blasted off it's hinges. Not wanting to argue _(and frankly, just glad for a place to stay at the moment,)_ he hurries into the back with a nod.

Genma instructs him up the staircase to the right, and Itachi's content to see an old blue futon and a heater in the small room. He closes the door behind him and tiredly makes a beeline for the futon, flopping down on the fluffy mattress with an exasperated sigh. The air smells stale and golden rays of late-evening light are filtered through the partially-closed blinds, illuminating the white dust flecks that float through the air. Sasuke's heart beats irratically beneath him, but Itachi does his best to soothe Sasuke. He wants to think about all that has happened- sort through his memories, talk more with Shisui over the oddities of the matter, and maybe come to some sort of closure because he is _so tired._

But Sasuke needs him.

He tries to think of a way to, perhaps, ease the trauma running rampant in his little brother, but everything comes up blank. He was a shinobi, even as a toddler. Shinobi aren't coddled. Shinobi aren't soothed by their parents. No one was there for him when he cried in the middle of the night- except for _her._

His chest constricts painfully as her face, smiling and happy, passes through his vision to be replaced by what he saw _that night._ But no- he needs to think of her. If not for himself, then for Sasuke.

For Sasuke and _her_ both.

And suddenly, he remembers her voice. The way she spoke so sadly, so wisely, and so happily. The way she'd sing so, so beautifully. It's funny how he'd never really noticed before. He feels a bit awkward, having never sung before; let alone sing a song supposed to be sung by women, he tries anyway. For Sasuke.

"Goodnight, sleep tight,

tomorrow's sun will be bright.

Good night, dear child,

pray that your sleep be mild,

let not the thought of yesterday

haunt you in the night's sweet play.

Keep steady, dear child your path.

Let go and lay not in the aftermath.

The fireflies watch over you in their graves,

stand strong, dear child.

Be not afraid..."

* * *

 **.:TGoF:.**

* * *

 **Hi guys! It seems like I owe some of you an explanation for the way the story's rolling.**

 **Hotarubi will NOT be joining the Akatsuki, and no, the story's not over, she is actually still alive. This will definitely be an AU.**

 **Also, to the reader that felt the last chapter to be disjointed, I meant it to be that way. In my note at the top of the chapter, I tried to state that saying it as a somewhat of a 'blur' in Hotarubi's life. Sorry if I didn't make it clear enough :( I'll be cleaning up the blank years as the story goes on. Also, my bad getting the ages mixed up! Paranoia told me Itachi was very young (13?!) when he murdered the clan, and considering how it's stated that Hotarubi is three years younger, that now marks her age at ten. But yep, Hotarubi can't fool everyone, apparently. I also wrote that little lullaby at the end myself just for this story :D Hope y'all liked it!**

 **Anyways, please help me if I have Itachi's age horribly skewed.**

 **Thank you all for your reviews!**

 **Do y'all even read my author's notes? -.-**

 **HAPPY LATE THANKSGIVING TO YOU ALLL!**


	7. Ouroboros Arc: Snake

**The Ourobouros Arc: Snake**

 _Here's the thing about snakes;_

 _You don't step on them, they don't got a reason to bite._

 _— FP Jones_

My name is Santa Yamanaka, and it has been two years since the Uchiha Massacre.

Not much had changed in Konoha despite the incident, as one might believe. It was release in full-color print newspapers the day after that night, and it had spread like wildfire throughout the city, and I don't doubt that it reached other nations that very same day. It ended as most things concerning shinobi do; the villain, Hotarubi Uchiha (or the Traitor's spawn, some — _most —_ still call her) was killed in a joint effort by Shisui and Itachi Uchiha. They're heroes, now, and popular with everyone in the know, which is literally _everyone._ So, the village is safe and everyone's happy. Kudos to us, right?

Well, not exactly.

Thoughts of the massacre breed a bitter taste in my tongue as I sip the creamy beige coffee in my mug. Sometimes, I can't help but wonder if the world would be better off if such a thing as 'shinobi' never existed. It's a foolish, worthless thought (that's what my father, an ex-shinobi himself minus one left leg told me) that I shouldn't dwell on. But one can dream, can they not?

With a sigh, I place the cup down and flip the next page in my newspaper, too engrossed in the _very juicy_ piece of gossip in the head article to hear the jingle of bells as the store door opens.

"Oh my. Jiraiya-sama's written a new novel, huh? 'Fifty Shades of Ninja'... hm. Not doing as well as his Icha-Icha series, huh?" A voice startles me out of my reverie and I nearly jump out of my skin. "Oh! Uh, sorry! Hi! Yeah, hi! Umm... that was just- I mean, uhh..." The girl (a regular for the past year, I note) simply stares and giggles as I flush and make a fool of myself. "No worries. I'll have the usual bouquet today, please. No coffee today."

Nodding dumbly, I hurry away to fulfill her order. I grab the white, ruffle-petal edge chrysanthemums chilling in the fridge (pun intended) and twirl the shrink wrap on the counter around their stems.

The girl waits patiently at the counter, her smile lost and her eyes dim and lifeless as she stares at the newspaper. Taking a plastic cord and tying it to restrict the wrap, I glance up at her again. She doesn't seem to be looking at the newspaper anymore. She has that look my father had when he was still alive; that haunted, glassy-eyed look that tells me that she's somewhere far, far in the past.

I don't comment on it and leave her to sort herself through it, knowing that it's the best thing I can currently do for her. She's a regular around here and almost always has that distant Look about her at least once. The last flower is on the tip of my tongue as I swing around to the back, filing through the rows of potted flowers lined in alphabetical order. _Let's see,_ I hum to myself, more to pass the time than for anything of necessity.

 _Snowflake, Solidago— ah, Spider Lily._ I gently grasp the fine stem of the delicate crimson flower, careful not to disturb the very thin stamen that branch out of the ovary. I reach out my left hand into the pocket of my work apron, pulling out the clipper into view. With an effortless _snip_ the flower separates from its pod. The _Lycoris Spider Lily_ shakes gingerly with each step I take back through the door and to the counter, the fresh water droplets on it shimmering in the fluorescent light. The woman seems to have snapped out of her daze, her dark russet eyes gleaming again as she watches me stick the last addition into the mix of white.

"Thank you," She whispers, and I give her a grateful smile as I ring up the cash register. "That'll be sixteen thousand ryō." I tell her, and she nods when she digs into her pocket. I eye her curious mix of ebony and blonde locks, seeing the way the small strips of gold peeled out of the brown in beautiful, cascading waves. They're layered beautifully and the ones here in the front reach to the middle of her rather _well endowed_ chest that I try to ignore as much as possible.

Bangs on her right frame her face just _so,_ and a few sections of her hair are braided and have a few iron nuts encircling them in places. Her skin is a smooth, earthenware color with little scars littered about her cheeks and what little of her neck I can see beyond her icy blue scarf. The shadowed eyes that worriedly scan the coins in her palm to assure herself that they are the correct value are a valiant layer of hickory laid atop mahogany and cedar, specks of umber and maple syrup indented into the deep, beautiful brown of her iris. When she looks up at me, my breath is taken away to a far, faraway place I don't even know the name of. The dark, mysterious woody and earthen hues melt away and give life to a shining bronze and barley tea, eyes like the distant planet of Mars that bursts in color with the borrowed light of the sun. Her nose is perfectly average with a hawkish nose and thin, downturned lips. They were the color of dusted ginger and had a light undertone of off-white pink, pale and beautiful with creased dimples when she smiles at me. Her eyelashes fluttered across her cheeks with the delicacy of butterfly wings and framed her almond-shaped eyes well. Her jawline is sculpted with a slight dip in her chin to complement her oval face, the valley of her neck and v in her collarbone well-defined. But, despite however closely I look at her, it is quite a shame that others do not take the time to admire her beautiful qualities. Why?

Because, simply, when one takes a step back, she is painfully _average._

Such is so with flowers and stories, too. There's always a little more that no one likes to talk about. Whether from fear of being ironically called a 'pansy' for liking flowers (pun intended) quite so, or from fear of being the next one involved in the horror story they love to explore.

I can't help if I'm one of the latter.

"Thank you." I take the coins from her without a glance, knowing her to be a woman of honest money, and place them accordingly in their slots. Knowing the slight grimace in my smile, I hand the bouquet over to her and watch as her hair swishes from side to side as she walks towards the door.

"Wait!" I call out before I can stop myself, my heart beating erratically from nervousness. She turns around and gives me a questioning look, but my mouth moves faster than I can think. "Who are those for?" I blurt, regretting my actions as I try to reign my tongue from asking anything more. It was always the same bouquet, always funeral flowers, always white with a _single Spider lily._ Chrysanthemums are for purity, but Spider lilies... they mean _I will see you again._ It makes no sense. So _why?_

Her face changes slowly. Her smile dips into a frown and her eyebrows pinch together as she casts her eyes away from me, worriedly looking at the flowers. She's quiet for a moment, as though conversing with herself before she looks back at me with a face that stings my heart. It's a sad, sad smile. Her eyes shine with misery and sorrow and she screams _regret._

"The graves of fireflies."

 **.:; TGoF;:.**

Itachi Uchiha is tired.

Regardless, he gets up as usual. He shoves the sheets off of his shoulders and slides off of the bed, sleepily slicking his hair back as the warmth vanishes from his body, replaced by the cold autumn air that slips through the traditional tatami matting. He eyes Sasuke, laying on the adjacent bed dead asleep. Relief floods him at the calm state of his younger sibling. Ever since the massacre, he's had numerous sleepless nights haunted by the image of their father's face and the screams of their clan.

And, if he was to be honest, Itachi is shadowed by memories of _her._

With a deep sigh, he bundles up his hair and totters to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he bends down and opens up the cabinet below the sink and fumbles around for a hair tie in the darkness. Feeling the rough elastic loop, he grasps it and straightens to tie his hair back in the usual low ponytail. The cheap golden-orange lightbulb flickers as he runs the sink and splashes his face. The water is frigidly cold and sets his heart startled and running from its drowsy state.

With a groan, the blood rushes to his head and his chest constricts painfully. A cough wracks his form and he hunches over, clasping a hand to his mouth as a coppery taste spills over his tongue. He coughs dryly as he hurriedly runs the water, spitting out the ugly bronze-lit liquid as the water gushes in the sink. Cupping his hand under the water, he sips some and courses it through his mouth, spitting it out again. Sip, swash, spit, repeat.

Itachi rinses down the last bit of blood down the drain when he hears a dull _thud_ from the other side of the room. _Sasuke's awake._

Groggy and tired, Sasuke rubs his eyes as he toddles blindly to the bathroom. The corners of Itachi's lips quirk up in a smile, seeing his little brother bump into his hip. Sasuke grunts when he wobbles backwards a bit, hardly half of Itachi's waist as his elder brother's hand lands his back to steady him. "Why don't you wash up? I'll fix breakfast up quickly for you," Itachi suggests, to which he receives an almost unconscious nod from the half-asleep Sasuke. Ruffling his ototou's spiky hair, Itachi gingerly glides past him to go to the kitchen.

Grabbing his personal apron and tying his hair with a stray band on the counter, he sets to work. Bending down to inspect the oak cabinets below the gas stove burner, he opens the door with the copper handle and takes the largest pan. With a push, twist and hold he ignites the stove and places the pan upon it. Turning the knob down to low heat, he reaches and takes the jar and spoon on top of the black marble counter. Itachi spoons two globs of white coconut oil onto the pan, dodging a bit of the oil as it spits out at him.

He hears the water running in the bathroom, supposedly Sasuke taking his morning shower, as he opens the obsidian refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs. Cracking them on the counter, he fries them with the coconut oil until the bottom solidifies. Taking the pink salt shaker to his left on a paper towel next to the oil jar, he grinds the salt onto the two eggs. Next comes the pepper and... he forgot the cheese.

Pouting slightly with a twitch in his brow, he takes one more trip to the fridge and grabs the Parmesan shredded cheese. He sprinkles it on top, now satisfied with his recreation, and waits patiently 'til the corners turn a crispy bacon-brown. The savory, delicious scent of the melting cheese and the sweet but light coconut oil make his mouth water in anticipation.

Light filters in through the half closed oak blinds of the kitchen and conjoined living room, illuminating the shin-height hickory table as he places the porcelain plate down. Dust particles float lazily as he stalks back and forth in the kitchen, preparing tomato onigiri with the lull of the shower rain filling in the background. The construct staple, the wood, glows warmly with the beams of light serrated by the blind slots as Itachi's feet soundlessly patter against the boards.

After the massacre, they'd bunked at a certain Genma-san's house. The mysterious senbon-chewing shop owner wouldn't give a hint as to why he'd shelter a pair of orphans other than _'A little firefly beat me in a game of Han-Cho'_ and a shake of his scowling head. He's quite sure that the man's never sober once he opens the refrigerator. Grisly not-so-old shinobi aside, the new house he and Sasuke had chosen was fashionably old and new.

It's a modest, modern home with traditional influences. It's a single-story medium-sized home with an attic and two guest rooms, one set aside for Sasuke when he grows older, and one the two share at present. The floors are a laminated oak flooring, light beige walls and a white ceiling to pair with it. Windows line the main conjoined living and kitchen rooms. The counters are of black-marble with a simple five-burner stove, overhead microwave, and a stylishly onyx oven. The refrigerator is black, too, much to his pleasure, and a simple palm-tree plant sits on the top counter. The table is a low, traditional one with two sitting purple pillows on each side, and one on each opposite length of the square.

The shower cuts off as he wraps the soft tomato onigiri and sour pickled cabbage into Sasuke's bento box. Sasuke casually meanders on in, a towel tossed over his head and his usual unisex khaki shorts and Uchiha crest shirt. Scowling at the sun for so rudely blinding him with the comparative brightness to the dull lamplight they use in the bed and bathroom, he plops down in front of the set plate and drops his wet towel. "Itadakimasu." He murmurs before picking up his chopsticks and cutting into the steaming sunny-side up eggs.

Itachi, clad in his frilly pink 'Kiss the Cook' apron, notes the silence and lack of chewing sounds as he cracks open the carton to make his own eggs. It's a peculiar sort of silence that steals the breath of the air in quiet and almost unassuming anticipating suspense. It's the kind he and his father would hang tacitly when in the airs of disagreements. Itachi decidedly doesn't like it.

"So, are you ready for school today?" Itachi cracks the eggs on the counter, dripping the yolk and white onto the pan-oil as it sizzles angrily. "Hn," Sasuke grunts. To-be read as; 'yes.' The clinking of Itachi rummaging through the plates in the upper cabinet make Sasuke's ears twitch as he stares down at his plate, contemplating and... very suspicious.

"Nii-san." Sasuke looks up from his plate, uncertainty dabbling on the tip of his tongue. Should he say this..? _I deserve to know._ Sasuke finalizes in his mind, boldness shooting through his mind as he sets his chopsticks down.

"Since when do you cook eggs like this?" It's a logical question. Up until a few weeks after _that night,_ Itachi had always steamed the eggs when he cooked them. He never added cheese, nor pepper, and he despised the burned blemishes that now bruise the rim of the meal. He is a perfectionist to no end; why the change? At first, Sasuke had thought he was just trying something new, but he wasn't so sure when other things changed. He constantly brought flowers into the house; always the same kind. Baby's Breath, Sea Holly and Proteus blossoms. He made two cups of tea one time when Sasuke came back from the Academy; he hadn't touched his, and the other had long since grown cold. He'd simply stared out the window in a trance while it rained that day.

Sasuke knew the cup hadn't been for him.

Then there was the bird feeder out front and the peculiar way he'd sit at the table for hours in the dead of night when he thought Sasuke was asleep, staring at a phantom Sasuke couldn't see. There were also the nights when he'd sing himself a lullaby with words that are disgustingly familiar but vaguely distant.

Then there is that disturbingly domestic apron.

If Itachi froze or flinched, he did a good job of hiding it. He sets his plate down and wields the spatula, plopping the eggs onto his plate. "... Just a change in pace," He responds blandly, dropping by the toaster to pick up two pieces of perfectly toasted toast.

Sasuke frowns. Itachi lies a lot, he's learned as he's grown older, and he's made much better lies than before. "Oh, yeah?" Sasuke growls as Itachi joins him at the table, lips pressed slightly and invisibly thin. "Yes," He states. "Now, eat. You're going to be late." Sasuke doesn't put up a fight after that, quietly scooping his suddenly bitter eggs and toast into his mouth. If Itachi doesn't wanna tell _now,_ he'll find a way to get him to spill the beans.

Sasuke's gonna be the best ninja ever, after all.

And...

Sasuke's fists clench tighter on his chopsticks. _I'll avenge my father._ He eats a little faster, determination glowing in his eyes.

 _'Cause I know that_ she _isn't weak enough to die that easily._

 **.:; TGoF;:.**

Shisui hisses in pain, clenching his stomach as he jumps further.

 _I don't have enough time!_ He thinks as the pain intensifies, ripping his skull open with a headache. He stumbles a little from fatigue, groaning as his stomach clenches again. He needs to get to Itachi's house, he knows, but with the growing agony of the empty flesh of his stomach pulsating and groaning, he can only hope he'll get there soon enough.

He needs help. _Badly_. He won't make it if he doesn't hurry. He dodges a stray pipe as he lands on the ground, lurching forward in a mad dash to get to the little house by the tree line. He slams the door open and staggers inside, breathing in the scent of toast and eggs as his abdomen twists and writhes.

A whistling shuriken whirls at his face and he dodges by a hair, hearing the deep _thud_ as it embeds itself into the wood. "Itachi!" Shisui gasps, seeing a _very_ irritated Itachi, clad in his warrior's outfit of a pink, frilly ribbon tossing eggs in the kitchen.

"Thank heaven!" Shisui cries, "I'm _starving!_ "

As if on cue, his stomach roars from hunger.

Itachi sighs like a man with a dog that believes it's a cat, perching on everything and going so far to rebel against nature so as to have learnt how to meow instead of bark. A very exasperated man he is, indeed. Very much a cat-dog he has to deal with.

A very peculiar creature, indeed.

"Come. Sasuke's gone. I'll make you lunch." Itachi beckons him in, preparing himself for more eggs and a large possibility of obtaining a headache. Shisui kicks off his Anbu boots into the corner of the entrance, shrugging off his winter coat as his cheeks glow a warm and bright pink from the cold.

Waltzing his way to Sasuke's room, Shisui disappears behind the door and re-emerges with a bean bag in his hand. Tossing it beside the table, he leaps onto it with a childish glee.

He hums an old tune in his throat _(where is it from, again?)_ as the background paraphernalia shines in his eyes. The soft clinks and occasional huff of the stove fire are comforting when paired with the scent of cooking breakfast.

It's a comforting thought, he feels.

To have someone at home, cooking. It's not something he's used to, or course, and it's not quite the same homely feel with someone like Itachi cooking, but he'll take whatever he can get. Kagami, his father, died when he was young and when Shisui was younger still. He's an older, dying generation in a lightning fast world of cannon fodder and rising shinobi. If he doesn't want to fade into mediocrity for the history books he'd better become someone important, according to a certain Kakashi Hatake, a lead on the Massacre case and a good friend of Itachi. Nowadays with the business of the outside world and his own upkeep of social charisma, he finds himself alone, often.

Cold, tired, and _alone._

Now are times of peace. No more war, no more children starving on the street or child-soldiers marching to their deaths. No more orphans killed for other's sins or dead-eyed veterans without a future. There's a whole new other kind of war for he and his lonely kind.

He's got nothing. Nothing to look forward to when he gets home, nothing but cobwebs and dust to greet him when he gets home. It's a war of distraction— a war _to be_ distracted. Distracted from the wailing ghosts and the haunting, frigid loneliness. He hasn't had anyone to welcome him home since...

 _Since that night._

It's a sour and different tale; one that leaves a bitter taste on his tongue at the thought. There were unanswered questions; things that needed to be solved about _that night_ and have since run cold along with the weather. It was a vile happening, but Shisui can't help but feel as if it wasn't so... _timed._

He's no fool; despite the council of Uchiha never having invited him to their meetings, he knew that there was something brewing. It was in the way the Uchiha stared and whispered, the tactit agreement that lingered in the wind and smelled foul as that vile air. It was like a mold growing in the wood of the planks in the floors, slowly and definitely festering and boiling like a century-old curse. He knew the Uchiha were planning something. Something _wrong._

And then there was _her._ An anomaly, a pariah, the elephant in the room that was as invisible as a mouse. _She_ held knowing eyes, and that accursed gift of _her_ beautiful face told him everything despite how well _her_ lips were sealed. He loved that beautiful face. He loved her wolfish, cold, sooty eyes and her small smiles that never bore teeth, the way _she_ would scowl when displeased and flush red without her knowledge. He loves the moments when her beautiful, tanned and rosy lips would pout when _she_ concentrated, the redness that would overtake her face like that one time he'd been pressed too close to her when spying on Itachi, the way her eyes would light up at the sight of the stars in the sky, and so, _so much more._

Moreover, he _loved_ the way _she_ lied.

Because _she_ could make up a story on the spot; he'd seen her weave a web of lies and leave the victim stranded without any arguments to her acclaim in a manner of seconds. He knows how every little giveaway is hushed by a flick of her wrist and a clever lie. He's never seen her get caught for so much as a simple theft if _she_ didn't want to be caught.

The thing is; it was _far too easy_ to know when _she's_ lying when you know her.

 _She_ never put out the _perfect_ alibi; _she_ left breadcrumb drops for the Hansel and Gretel cops to believe _she_ wasn't the wicked witch, and _she_ knew how to play it to a perfection.

But Shisui, as her watchful witch's raven, has seen _her_ innermost colors for far too long to be fooled.

When _she_ lies, _she_ gives nothing away. _She_ could fool the whole world and get away with it. But when _she_ lied to him; _she_ was like the tell-tale heart. _She'd_ freeze and gulp ever so lightly, he could see _her_ cold fingers warm in nervousness and _her_ voice lowers slightly with a stiffness in _her_ spine. _She_ could never lie to _him._ That's why, as cruelly and clever as any come, she hid her lies so well. Gone were her tell-tale signs that night; not a uttering that could tell him whatever she was saying was intended or hollow.

But she could never change her eyes.

"How's the investigation going?" He asks, gratefully taking the tea Itachi hands out to him. Rooibos tea- _her_ favorite. "Cold," Itachi grunts, a displeased frown marring his face at his force's latest failure; or, rather, lack of progress than any loss of success. Breathing in the scent of barn wheat, dust and almost horse-like smell, the signature aroma of Rooibos, Shisui hums in sympathy to him. After the death of Fugaku, Shisui had managed to convince Itachi to take over the police force in place of his father. It's a good- well, _better,-_ and honest(ish) working, and much less bloody than field work for his pacifistic friend. It took a lot of convincing, trial and error, but after poking and prodding at the council for a hefty year on the matter, they retired Itachi to the position. As compensation, half surviving members (which weren't that many to being with) were brought back to take missions from the board to even out the power balance between the in and outside of the wall. Now, with the little resources he has, he's moved on to taking charge of the massacre case. Aided by yours truly, of course.

The case is as cold as they come. No leads for nine months, and nothing but vague psyche evaluations on the question of 'what the hell screwed Hotarubi Uchiha up' that provide vague answers. But, with the way Itachi's house is, to the way he cooks, Shisui wonders if it's they, themselves, who need a psyche eval.

"We got screwed up real bad, 'Tachi-kun." Itachi doesn't need to ask what he means. He's very well aware of what he means. The moment _she_ died at his hand, and his accursed eyes awoke, it seems as if nothing isn't related to _her._ Every rainy day, every time they looked out the window, smelled the scent of Rooibos or felt a cold mug of Green tea, heard the caw of the jackdaw and every saturated sunrise that pooled in and warmed their chilled bones reminded them of her. _She_ is within the summer grass as it illuminates with firefly lights, _she_ is within the cold winter nights when the stars shine brightest in the dark. _She_ is everywhere.

 _She_ is in the air when it strokes through the strands of their hair like her smooth, cold fingers, she is the spray of cold water when they run the tap, _she_ is within every crack and crevice and corner of Konoha. _She_ is within the lullabies Itachi sang to Sasuke in troubled times, _she_ is within every breath they take; because as long as they live, her memory lives within them. Gone, lost, but not forgotten.

Shisui sighs and combs a hand back through his mussed hair, his palm brushing the metal plate on his hitai-ate. A wonderful distraction, and a much better turn on topics. "Sasuke's graduation exam should be in three years, right?" Itachi nods at Shisui's inquiry. "Yes," He smiles at the thought of his little brother as he places their breakfast on the table. "He will pass. I don't doubt him," Itachi remarks, a prideful tilt in his stoic voice, and a grin that doesn't seem to be vanishing any time soon. _Good,_ Shisui hums in his head. _It's been a while since he's smiled this often._

Time heals all wounds, after all.

Even if it can't forget them.

"So, how is Hatake-san?"

Shisui groans. Oh yes, the one topic he didn't want to talk about was picked on.

"What about that stick in the mud?" Shisui growls, shoving a whole sunny-side up egg into his mouth and gulping it down in a fury. Itachi glowers in disgust. "He's as cranky and antisocial as ever; even more so, since he received the news that he's being readmitted into a Jounin Squad."

Well that's new.

Itachi blinks in surprise. "He's being discharged from Anbu?" He questions, bewildered at the thought that they would allow such a valuable asset to be demoted. He, himself, certainly had enough trouble doing so and it had been the talk of the town at the time; to have Hatake step down so quickly is almost unheard of. "Not demoted; _reassigned,"_ Shisui corrects him, slurping down the last bit of tea and yolk straying from his lips. "He's getting a new team; apparently, one of them's a hotshot from some random small-time village out somewhere. Land of Iron, I think."

Even more peculiar.

"Isn't the Land of Iron a samurai region?" Itachi asks, baffled by such an extensive exchange. Shisui nods, standing up and shoving his shoes back on his feet. "Yep. They said it was some relationship-building thing for them to give us one of their shinobi."

Shisui hurries to make it out of the door, determined to get to team training on time, but not without leaving a statement.

"Tch. _Politics._ "

 **.:; TGoF;:.**

Hatake Kakashi can imagine a million better things to do with his time than to deal with this.

Thank the stars that there is, at least, _one person_ on this team that isn't an idiot.

And even then, he and Yamato are outnumbered two to three.

"Oh, come _on!_ You know I'm the sexiest kunoichi in the village- admit it!" Anko hisses as she grapples Tenz- _Yamato_ and proceeds to choke him. Genma sighs, looking up from his personal copy of _Icha Icha Paradise_ (Kakashi blanches at the sight. The Third had given him that exact copy for, quote, 'therapy' reasons. _What a load of bull-)_ with his senbon hanging meticulously out of the corner of his mouth. "He can't admit anything if he's dead." Either Anko doesn't care, has a way to somehow miraculously animate people from beyond the grave, or is determined to prove that dead men tell no tales is wrong, or she could just be having fun seeing him writhe in pain, but she continues choking him with her ankle lock as he runs around with her on his shoulders like a chicken without a head. _Well, guess it's just me now,_ Kakashi concludes, mourning the loss of the last sane person on his new team. He shall be missed.

Now, in a disturbingly time not too long ago, in a land uncomfortably close, Kakashi might have believed that there is a small possibility that the team's 'transferred shinobi' might actually be a normal, sensible human being with some shred of dignity. But, of course, he's proved wrong. How?

 _They're two hours late._

Shinobi die when they're too late. Too late to arrive, too late to block a blow, too late to move aside so that they don't get hit by _the rock—_

They're very late.

Tardiness is not acceptable as a shinobi.

Aggravated but determined, Kakashi huffs and extends his chakra, letting it creep through the air like ghostwind as it scours the landscape of Training ground 86 in search for a sign of misplaced life. He finds it right behind him.

"Hello!" Is chirped before Kakashi spins around and grapples their thinner wrist (much to his chagrin, he can't punch them ever since the Third told him that doing so is considered rude) and sweeps low with his leg. The anomaly does something reminiscent of a hopscotch jump as they leap above his striking leg none too high, mindful of the hand gripping their wrist. Deciding the _now_ is a good time to test their skill _(no hostile intent: not an enemy)_ and perhaps humiliate them a little, (he's still rather unappreciative of their little scheme) he raises his dodged knee to aim a crippling bruise to their ribs. The anonymity— a woman, he notes; or close enough in age to almost be— grins and uses her free right hand to slam her palm into his patella, twisting and seizes _his_ own wrist, using the driving force of his arc and her single-limbed strength to toss herself over and behind him. Feeling the muscles of her triceps twitch and a peculiar chakra stretch over his body, he immediately shoves her arm away from his and spins around in a crouch to keep from being tossed over her shoulder. She follows up with the kinetic energy in their little pirouette and slams her shin to his head, the grating sound of iron meeting iron screeching in their ears as his blocking armguards meet her shin guard. Kakashi has the initiative and strikes forward, grasping the thigh area just above her knee as she gasps and rips her towards himself, other hand shooting out as she's dragged towards him and clasps the front of her shirt (have to refrain from throttling the neck) and rams into her with his own weight. His hand shoots out again from her leg in record time, slamming down her wrists above her head as he straddles her waist.

Though thoroughly pinned and defeated, she smiles up brightly at him. Kakashi blanks out at that; used to the usual scowling defeat or the bitter laugh that usually comes after when he beats someone despite their advantage. She didn't have the look of a winning woman; not with the dark, purplish-blue crescents of insomnia set under her eyes or the glasses, mirrors of her eyes. But, there was something in that smile that was proud. Brave; victorious, even despite the slow, loud clapping of Genma's large hands and Anko's hoots and hollers— plus the distinct lack of choking. He couldn't observe her in this admittedly compromising position (created doubly uncomfortable with Anko's wolf whistling) until something on the back of his neck stings and shudders down his spine like a hissing cockroach, that bad feeling he always gets as he stills, feeling the cold iron of a kunai on the back of his neck. "I win, taichou~" the childish, airy voice coos in his ear, pressing the knife further and further into his skin— and he disappears in a cloud of smoke.

"Not quite," Kakashi hums, stepping out of the tree line. The kunoichi rolls onto her stomach and smiles, her lips curling into a coy smile. "A draw, then." He lazily eyes her from head to toe, using standard Anbu observation procedure. She stands and pats off her navy blue turtleneck sweater and grey form fitting leggings; slightly reminiscent to Anbu sweatpants, he realizes. _Body type: Mesomorph, Hair Color: Brown with blonde streaks, Eye Color: Medium beige to low tan, Skin Tone: Dry Clay. Possible Kumo descent?_

"A draw," Kakashi agrees with the inclination of his head. Genma whistles, low and steady as he puts away his book. _Oh great,_ Kakashi muses. _Here comes the smoulder._

"Where have you been all my life, darling?" He purrs, smirking as he saunters over to the new shinobi. The woman (girl?) smiles back flirtatiously, accepting his wooing demeanor. "Just looking for you, darling." She coos back, and Kakashi retains the urge to jump off the Hokage Monument and never get up. _One_ Genma is bad enough. He does _not_ need another. Still, he lets them continue without interruption. It could become a team-building thing for them. _Just as long as they leave me out of it._

"Oh, but darling..." She leans in close to Genma, startling both Genma and everyone else. _Observation update: possible ex-seductress._ Her arms are draped over his shoulders, her chest pressed against his as her lips ghost the shell of his ear. Genma's cheeks burn lightly, but he's too busy enjoying the warm, gentle breaths ghosting over his skin and the distinct feel of a woman. "I'm too young for your tastes."

She pulls away, her lips devilishly grinning to her ears as Genma sputters in partial shock and voluntary disbelief. Anko roars in laughter, her hands prepped on her hips as she tosses her head back. "I like this kiddo! We're keeping it!" She crows and Kakashi groans. This isn't exactly what he was expecting when the Hokage told him he'd be getting a new team. He expected _sane,_ normal people. Instead, he got a flirt, a tease, a maniac, and a man with the social capabilities of a literal tree. _Great._

Being the ever more responsible, Kakashi sighs and begins introductions. "Well, since some of us don't know each other well, let's go ahead and introduce ourselves. Names should be enough." He grumbles, wishing he could have just stayed home and patted Pakkun for the whole day. Anko, as always, takes initiative. "I'm Anko Mitarashi. I like dango, snakes, and the sun. I hate Yamato-" She glares at him from her spot while Yamato not-so-subtly hides behind Kakashi. "- and a certain criminal. My hobby is terrorizing people and annoying Ibiki, and my dream for the future is to kill a certain man." She chirps, her bright purple hair bobbing as she nods her head in self satisfaction. Yamato, on the other hand, suddenly looks much paler after her last statement. Slightly annoyed by Anko for blathering further than needed (he hates wasting time,) Kakashi gestures for Genma to follow up. "Right," Genma concludes, eyeing her with a newfound fear. No one in Konoha _hasn't_ heard of Anko's... mania, and she's certainly living up to it so far. "Yamato." Is all Yamato says in way of greeting, clearly avoiding Anko and distrustful of the new recruit. Kakashi doesn't blame him; the female isn't too terribly short like most preteens and even most teens, and her chest is _very_ well developed for a young age, even if her curves appear to be limited to a slight curve at her waste. Her face has little baby fat that tends to stick up until age sixteen or seventeen, and her voice is still that of a younger female. Kakashi guesses age twelve. That makes her a prodigy of sorts, especially since she could keep up with him. They're only six years apart, in that case, which is rather impressive. Still, he's not going to slap a prestigious title on her quite yet. He's only seen her taijutsu (a unique one, it seems) so far. "You all can call me Tatarako." Newly dubbed, Tatarako gives a light bow to the general direction of everyone. "And I'm Kakashi. Welcome to Recon Squad Eight, everyone," He says with an eye smile. He receives varying nods and a few smiles.

Satisfied with his findings (for now), he claps his hand together and smiles under the mask. Summoning his happiest voice and trying to feel even remotely close to upbeat, he prepares to play the beloved Taichou role. Fun. "Okay! That was a good spar. Before we continue, let's go over tactical strategies we'll be using." Pulling out the mission scroll from his sleeve, Kakashi crouches down and lays out the scroll onto the ground. They gather around, Anko grinning and Yamato sending him a questioning look. "Ah, right," Kakashi laments, scratching the back of his neck. "I'd forgotten to tell you." No, he hadn't. Taking a quick glance around the training ground, Kakashi decides it best that this remained only for their ears, despite not sensing anyone around. Lifting his hands in the Ram symbol, he sends his chakra out to activate the silence seals scattered throughout the grounds. After making doubly certain that no one else is in the area, he continues. "Recon squad eight is only our cover and part time job. Our real operation is assasination and inter-alliance sabotage." It's a sneaky but necessary move on the Hokage's part.

An interalliance sabotage operation is a risky game, if not beneficial. Headhunter Squadron will be in charge of taking covert missions involving villages allied or under a treaty with Konoha. Places like the Sand, the Fire Country Daimyo's house, and the Lands of Water, River, and Tea would be their targets, all being an alliance (in Sunagakure's case) or being a top contractor or being under Konohagakure's protection like the Land of Tea and River country. Wave country is currently a controversial topic, being claimed by both Konoha officials and Kumo shipping magnates. Still, taking out the right people in Wave for unofficial ownership of Nami no Kuni is what will be a key factor in taking control of the region. Meanwhile in Suna, assasinations aren't on the list of things to do simply because they can be traced back to Konoha far too easily, so the matter at hand involves dressing and acting as foreign _non-Konoha_ shinobi and taking out convoy and escort missions by and for any anti-alliance benefactors to impede their movements. It's similar for the River and Tea countries as well, seeing as how they have a distinct lack of a hidden village and their importance as trade routes and routers.

But that's for next time. For now, he'll settle with spars and a little bit of knowledge.

"Any questions?" He asks, gauging just how well they understand his statement. Yamato, being ex-Root, understands exactly what that means, so that rules him out of any questions. Anko works mainly at the TI department, so she's no stranger to underhanded operations, and though Genma's done his fair share of clean (Anbu slang for not-exactly-illegal) assasinations, the word 'interalliance' is enough for him to get the punchline without anything else being risked to be heard by unfriendly ears. It's the newbie he's unsure of.

Unfortunately for him, he has no clue how _secretive_ his new comrade is. She knows as much, and doesn't expect him to be suspecting anything further for the time being. She placed everything perfectly together to get to this point, after all. A seal to change the body, a little dabbling in ventriloquism to change the voice, a heap ton of scent exposure to change her scent, and complete silence for two years. She knew even that wasn't enough to pop in and fool her old teammate, so she created a town where she existed. She fooled the world with some great help of the Third; and who dares suspect a Kage they have already knowingly betrayed once? She knows everything superficial and a little bit more to know about the enigma of Kakashi Hatake from his exploits with Root to his expertise in cooking fish. It's not everything, no, but she feels it's enough. It has to be. He can't know who she is; and neither can the currently oblivious Yamato that will one day take form into the character she knew. But they can't know her; not if she can help it.

After all, Hotarubi Uchiha is a dead woman walking.

 **.:; TGoF;:.**

 **Happy New Years everyone! Sorry this chapter is so late; I hit a writer's block, but you all can thank thanzintae.2000 for this arc in specific! I didn't originally plan on making it, but their comment got me thinking, so now this book will be longer by one extra arc!!**

 **OKAY, now this is VERY IMPORTANT.**

 **When I first made this book, I planned on the end being a tragedy. However, it seems a great deal of my viewers on this book are avid shippers, and I'm beginning to consider adding Romace (Yep, all you shippers heard right) and perhaps, an extra side-story happy ending. SO, if you want or don't want Hotarubi to romance someone, go on my profile page and get to the poll that will be set up tomorrow to vote for the title of Firefly Lover or Firefly Friendzone! Or just comment with the name of the man you feel should be the lucky one!**

 **As always, please post a comment— even a 'nice book' comment helps tremendously. Thanks and have a happy New Years!**


	8. NOTICE!

Ahh ahaha, hey everyone!

Sorry for my lack of updates. Life's been beating on me really hard these past few months, and I'm afraid my excuse is plainly exhaustion.

Anyways, that isn't the purpose for this notice— don't worry, it's something happy.

I'm going to reconstruct this book.

I'll be going back and rewriting _everything_ that I've got down so far. Yep. Everything. A lot is going to change. Hiruko will no longer be included, and the story will be very similar, but the fundamentals will be different.

So, what does this mean for you, as readers?

It means waiting. An unfortunate amount of it. Not _too_ long, though. I'll be working double-time than I normally have in order to reconstruct it before the mid-mark of June, and it will likely be done far before that.

Anyways, instructions for when I'm done:

Do not remove this book from your library or favorites list. It will still be in _this_ book, but once it's done, I will send out another note in this book, and you can go back to chapter 1 to retread it. And trust me— you'll need to.

Thank you all for being so patient and so helpful, and I wish you the best.

-Chimera


	9. Beginning ArcR: One for Sorrow (I)

**Hey! Finally got the 1st new chapter out. Tell me your thoughts and stuff on it, since it is a slightly different style of 1st person I haven't really used before. Tell me if it's just too complex, simple, etc. Hope you enjoy! Also, once the story has reached the point where I stopped before rewriting, the old chapters will be deleted.**

 **EDIT: So. Um. Later than I planned it to be... _because I rewrote it thirteen times please don't be mad at me I was already mad at myself. IN MY DEFENSE I REWRIT MOST OF IT FASTER THAN I'VE EVER DONE BEFORE. I cried writing most of this chappy, man. SIs can be depressing. _Much more so when you delete 5k-plus words continuously. I'm still not satisfied with it to be honest but I'm pretty sure you guys are tired of waiting, so here you go!**

 ** _P.S._**

 **I'm a filthy procrastinator. And hot weather sucks. Sorry it's so late!**

* * *

 _ **In the Grave of Fireflies**_

 _ **Chapter One:**_

 _One for Sorrow_

Her name wasn't always Hotarubi Uchiha.

Her hands weren't always so delicate and soft, squishy and fragile.

Her legs are no longer the long, muscled pair that could dart back and forth over roots and mountain terrain anymore. Her skin isn't her own anymore; tanned a shade lighter but still a dusty tone, unblemished and unscarred by the cruelty of her world.

But, at least, it had been _her_ world that had wronged her.

Here, staring at stone faces so familiar yet so foreign, she knows. It had always been evident to her; memories trickled back into her head like a slow, steady stream. Innate mannerisms were already grilled into her before she could even understand what her mother told her. It was difficult, but she absorbed it all with the magical power that all babies have 'til it became so _evident_ that it couldn't be a dream. She couldn't deny herself the truth that the crest that leered on her crib wasn't constructed by rapid eye movement or a creative subconscious. And, if she thought a little longer and a little harder, she could remember it.

The night she died.

It wasn't a peaceful, or even a comfortable death. It was a midsummer night when the air was drunk with humidity and clung the hospital gown to her skin, starless as the city always was and as quiet as Death whom haunted her. The AC had broken and all that was left was stale air to gulp dry heat.

The silence was as thick as the fogging temperature, sweltering and burning against the cold slick of her sweat. Death reflected in her eyes as she tugged the hood over her head, uncaring and lifeless as agony struck her stomach. The pain (that pain that was so prominent but so sharp) had a name. Idiomatic Pancreatitis, they called it. Chronic. Never leaving.

Incurable.

Her air came in shallow, hot breaths; forced to be stiller than the misery crippling her veins. Her nerves were shot- she can still remember the feel of each nerve ending on fire, trembling hands and pained tears crawling across her cheeks. She remembers vertigo tipping her over, and a flash of sweet coldness before her hand lit up the metal bed rail. Nausea crept and clawed, twisting the rusty, poisoned knives in her gut. It's a good analogy, she thought, to depiction the inflammation of an organ. Ten thorned, filthy, jagged knives; twisting and turning and digging _deeper_ into her stomach and into her spine.

She the abrasion when she ripped out the IV in her arm was swamped by her cramping belly, all of her pain centered around the stabbing feeling within her stomach. For a moment, it was nulled by a harsh, echoing _thump_ in her chest.

 _There is nothing left for me anymore,_

she reminded herself as her eyes traced the blood trickling down her forearm, slow and languid like the gruesome beat of her heart. It was as dark and harrowing as her mother's blood. Her sisters' blood.

Staggering, she moved past the heart monitor. A quick glance at it fills a wry, grim part of her.

 _Finally,_ she had sighed to herself. _It's finally showing the right frequency._

The line was flat and the machine beeped and whirred erratically, green and red flashing like _stop_ and _go_ , screeching for help at having lost its pulse. She can remember a time when she cared that much about her pulsing blood; _long, long ago._

Covered in the darkness, she'd left the room. She walked past the hospital playroom that daunted her memories as a small child. She walked past nurses and doctors, all faceless and lost in an endless sea of baby blue and glaring lights and pain. No one recognized her. She didn't recognize anyone. She covered her hospital tag and walked through the doors unhindered.

For hours, she remembers, she'd limped on through agonizing pain. She kept feeling it; the knives twisting in her gut, and the swords piercing her heart. Time didn't have the _time_ to heal her wounds. It was still open and bleeding like her organs, red and sweltering and hotter than the filthy summer heat. She wanted to give up; lie down on the side of the road and die like a stray dog with police sirens wailing in her ears like they always do. _It's not worth it anymore,_ that evil, sad little voice had told her. She felt it right; it was never worth anything. Not without her family.

Still, she trudged on through the dirty mud-caked sidewalk, eyes fogged and bleary with traffic lights as she entered under an arch and into the woods. The coldness of the creek is what told her blind eyes what they could not see and what her dead mind could not comprehend; she'd made it. The small stream of her memories. The one place that brought her solace from the heat of the world. She'd fallen to her knees as the water rushed over her skin, crisp and shocking to her feverish flush. She jerked and writhed, howled and cried where no one could see her; no monitors, no prying eyes, no faked _love_ and faces with too many facets.

Only the jeering of cicadas were witnesses to her plight, and the darkness of the night sky. She laid in agony for hours, hearing the baying of dogs and the screaming of sirens that couldn't find her. Loneliness was killing her; handling the knife that plunged into her heart as fate pronged her with an iron brand to her stomach.

Until, finally, she felt _peace._ The pain was gone. Her heart still throbbed in anguish, but her eyes were dried. She'd run out of tears to cry, even with years of strength holding them back. When she felt a blissful, merciful, sweet cold burn into the fire of her stomach, her eyes fluttered open in relief.

She remembers seeing the moon, then, high above her in the sky, shoving aside the black clouds. Fireflies dotted her vision where the stars had been chased from the sky, bright and luminous and gold to match the pale silver of the moon. She remembered everything. She saw her life again.

The day her baby sister first came home, wailing and tomato-face and so small and _precious._ She remembers playing with her elder sister, making her bleed and feeling guilty, then having ice cream to help her feel better. She remembers her third sister, curled into her chest as she'd wrapped her arms around all three of them, shielding them and begging the loud, angry arguing of their parents to _go away._ She remembers her mother chasing her away, telling her that there was nothing she could do about the bullies and her older sister. She remembers her sobbing, working so, _so hard_ even with dad calling her all of those mean names, standing up to him when he was mean for her and her sisters. She remembers her father, she remembers his laughter. But more so than that, she remembers his anger. His hypocrisy. His cruelty. _Their_ cruelty. Her love for them, even in her last breath.

She'd died in that creek.

And here she is. Alive and _well._ In a world that isn't supposed to exist, in a place that was once only a fairy tale- _an anime for heaven's sake._ Stuck in a village she knows the fate to, and it's journey to get there. Born in a crowd so alien from her own, so different- _too different-_ from herself. Dead and revived only to be doomed to another horrible death by her own clan member. _Coincidence_ is a cruel thing, but _fate_ is it's master, and they've come together to birth _irony._ It's disgusting, but what can she do? She can't punch fate in the face like Naruto, who has the literal luck of the cosmos on his side.

Sighing, she ducks her head.

The house is different from what was her own, too. It's bigger than hers was. The room is too large— too much _room._ The double windows are too large, and the corners of the room too clean. The wooden floors aren't her familiar carpet, and any paraphernalia owned is cleared from the room ever since she'd grown out of her crib. Besides herself and the bed, the room is empty. The walls are thin enough to let cold winter air shiver through the paper tatami mats.

It's cold— lifeless. Her bed is only a few feet of the empty, lonely expanse. But it isn't entirely miserable; not with the night sky above her through the window. Konoha isn't a very bright city in the sense of lamps and giant highway lights like her home used to be. The Uchiha compound is particularly dark and peaceful, needing no extra light with the aid of the handy sharingan, she supposes.

As another gust of cool wind bites through her clothes, a dry, gentle cough wracks her body with shivers. She curls a bit deeper into the stuffed blanket that is only comfort and no warmth in a useless attempt to wade off some of the bitter chill.

As she looks up at the moon, high above the Hokage Monument, she can imagine for a moment. She can believe that she's still under that same, starry sky her little sister loved. She can see her small, smiling face and thin lips and eyes full of wonder at the constellations above. She can feel the other curled at her side, being her warmth among the cold. She replays warm memories of her mother, her _true mother,_ watching horses graze under the path of the Milky Way in the distant, far-back country of their retreat. She can recall a time when her older sister called her over in the dead of night and snuck out onto the roof with her, a memory that creeps a smile on her face. She remembers naming the stars with her father. Fighting against him under them. Her sister, turning against her. Pain in a sleepless night with monitors beeping.

Hurt curls into her flesh like a knife, twisting and pulling when she realizes she can't remember anything else warm. Her face sours, but she wills it away. Her heart's hurting is ugly enough— her face doesn't need to match it.

The ache doesn't go away, even with the strong lull of sleep tugging at her eyes. Slowly, as the night grows darker and the stars shine brighter, her sight dims— eyes trained on a dying firefly on her window. The gentle flickering of the light soothes her with its calm, steady beat. Slowly, as the light of the firefly darkens, her eyes dim and flutter, sliding shut as the light fades.

 _—The Grave of Fireflies—_

The morning sun greets her by burning her eyes open.

A miserable groan erupts from her pile of pillows and a blanket, deep regret filling her for neglecting to close the curtains. The damage, however, was already done as it renders her to scratchy and uncomfortable blinking. Phosphenes dance before her dry eyes, lighting up the dark and stirring her lazed brain to stay awake. A deep, insatiable urge to go back to sleep and _pretend_ her troubles away nags her mind since sleeping didn't do anything to give her memory a moment of reprieve. Her body burns at excess heat trapped between her warm skin and the thin, wool blanket covering her body. Discomforted, she whines at the unbearable heat trapped between herself and the covers. Irritated, she flips the blanket away.

And promptly tosses it back on.

A million complaints fly around her head as to why mornings are just not her thing along with 'stupid hot-cold dynamics that make no sense' of the unfairness of being too hot one moment, then too cold in the other. With her heart awake and thumping brightly, she laments that there is no chance of falling asleep once more. Already a light, restless, semi-insomniac sleeper, rest comes in short, rare bouts that are almost not worth it; much less to spend time trying to get back to sleep.

Resigned at her loss, Hotarubi grunts and presses upwards against the floor. Her muscles are sore and ached every moment spent using them, but she ignores their plight with a doggish stretch and a content sigh. She ambles on her tender feet towards the tatami slide-door, inwardly reveling at the coolness of the shaded wood on her soles.

It's been three weeks since her little breakdown. The airs of Konoha have become cooler and dryer with the passing of days, a chill nipping at her skin. That night had been a freak of weather, cold enough to bring snow to the Land of Fire and kill off the last of the summer fireflies. Konoha, she's discovered, never really gets too cold. Enough to snow, yes, but comfortable enough that it's nigh impossible to catch a cold. Different from her homeland in the Before; too warm, still, for her taste.

A blank hall with matching tatami walls and hardwood floors meets her expectant gaze. As she toddles along, she peeks out of the window to see the birds chirping on the small maple tree.

White-faced wagtails cheep and tilt their heads at her small, tired eyes. The twittering of the mottled tree sparrows and house-swifts sing a precarious tune at the anxiety of the songbirds. They eye her cautiously as she does with blurred interest within her dull curiosity. She's content to stand in the hallway just out of the light's reach, blinking away her tiredness to the sound of the birds, unmoving and solemn. Though they don't dare turn their back on her, the birds become content in her company. Separated by nothing but a thin, wooden wall, they gladly play an orchestra of the dawn.

Hotarubi glances at the sun on the distant Hokage Mountain, seeing it's gradual rise as it just barely peeks over the canopy. It is enough to provide a comfortable, gleaming light that doesn't hinder a quiet rest— so long as it doesn't touch her eyes. The opportunity to sit and enjoy the birds' hymns is there, and very tempting to her tired soul.

Her head ticks to the side a little, memories flitting through her head on _do I have the time?_ and _Is there something planned today?_

Nothing returns to confirm her thoughts but a blank urge to sit and listen. She's antsy at the thought of doing nothing for a moment— unnerved by the lack of confrontation of human life in the home. She has a mother. Hotarubi's mind can remember this much, even with the insistent and growing throb on the back of her head. Bouts of sorrow always leave the seeds of a migraine in their wake, and that leads to forgetfulness.

 _Hopefully,_ she thinks to herself, _forgetting is enough of an excuse._

In a rare moment of indulgence, she sits worth her back on the wall. The air tastes almost unbearably sweet as she breathes it in, peace relaxing her stiff form for what feels to be the first time in years. Dust particles twirl in the rays of sun twinkling through the window, reminiscent of snowflakes pattering about the black-maroon branches of the maple.

As the minutes pass and the sun creeps out from the horizon on the hills and the gregorianesque chanting of the birds coerce her eyelids to droop, a sudden, stark silence fills the air. The intensity is thick in the air, and it makes her breath pause in her throat. Unease tickles her palms and twitches her fingers, and her tongue swipes nervously across the back of her teeth. A loud _caw_ sends a tremor rattling through her arm to replace a flinch; her body unnaturally still with tension. Her eyes drift upwards at the sound of alarmed chirping and fleeing feathers fluttering away, watching a single, black feather ghost on the wind.

Her eyes follow as it drifts towards her, landing an inch before her feet. The light almost seems to have darkened; the amber beams replaced by a ghastly lavender. The shadows of the hall are hued vantablack and the grooves of the wooden planks become thick with darkness, as though inked into the ground.

The rushing of wings snaps her attention back out of the window, her eyes meeting the beady black orbs of the raven. It's scaled, obsidian talons bend the poisonously purple branch under its weight. Gnarled wood creaks and bends as the wraith-bird's wings fold and meld into the pitch of its feathers, ghosting like scattered ash as the ominous wind ruffles it. The sky seems to drain of the warm, glowing orange; bleeding red atop the darkened mountain line. The sickly pale yellow of the waning sun only deepens the shadows; bearing no light— only staving off the darkness.

It looks surreal; _fake,_ but suddenly, she can't remember the world looking any different.

Ink and color. No blurs. No sharp, intricate details. No sound. No smell. No blends in the colors; only stark, unhidden contrasts. Her breathing stops. It feels wrong to breathe.

Everything is _dead._

 _"And you should be, too."_ She jars from the gaping, clawing _feel_ of the voice tear through her shoulder and through her flesh, sickening and squelching. _Black,_ inky blood gushes out of the sopping wounds and her hand lashes out to grasp at the wounds—

Her hands touch thick, black tar.

 _Her blood._

Disbelief and _fear_ shoot her blood through her bloody veins _(dark, darker yet darker; darker than black— something that_ **shouldn't be-)** as her body trembles. Confusion and dread lace every horrified line on her face as the pitch drains down her forearm, and slow, slower than rotting flesh, it drips to the floor. The wound trembles.

The raven shrieks loudly, batting its wings as it lands on the windowsill, screaming a shrill, blood-curdling scream that draws a scream of her own. Horrified, she can't hear her own voice even as her throat grows hoarse and she _feels_ the sound bouncing and rattling her teeth— _screaming? Who's screaming?_

 _Red, red eyes, deeper than the copper stench of dripping blood_ tear into her own, reflecting back a stranger.

 _Not a stranger, no—_ she sees herself. Brown skin, sliced and cut open, weeping _black and red._ Cracks; deeper and more ancient than the scars that line the earth itself are etched into her skin. Downturned, gaping mouth, wailing in misery and red _, red_ eyes spinning with sorrow and mourning _(hatred)_ in pools of deep, black, _ugly_ sclera. Paper; thin, _white,_ and torn mirror the petal-like pieces rushing towards her. They stitch themselves under her hand— _slimy,_ rotten _, filthy; not_ paper _at all—_ and slowly, gradually seal the wound.

Her not-self's mouth moves.

 _"You should have died."_

The raven lunges. She hears her scream, now— it bounces through the deaf blankness of the halls, joining the howls and screams of the others— _the clan—_ as darkness rips through her eyes. She feels it; black, thorny claws and a sharp beak pecking at her eyes. She tries to cover them, slapping her hands onto the sockets and writhing, tossing and turning in the darkness but it doesn't _stop._ The cawing becomes shrilled, _human_ as she screams; _begs_ for help. No one can hear her.

Thick, _warm_ tears roll down her face as she sobs, agony tearing through her veins as _it_ pecks through her bone and flesh, tearing, plucking, clawing, _screaming,_ all for _her eyes._ It doesn't stop screeching— _howling,_ crying and cawing until the bird only weeps and sobs; black and _ravenous_ and unseen because all she can see is the _Void._

 _Death._

It screams her name. It screams over and over again; stumbling over letters and curses, howling at her to _go to hell_ and _just stay dead already._

 _"Hotarubi."_

She begs it to stop, feeling it tear through her retina and scorch her skull. It doesn't listen.

 _"Hotarubi."_

Black, _black_ feathers, screeching and howling and the wraith won't _leave._ Deep, dark pitch spilling from her eyes, dripping and pooling and _burning_ because the sun sets her hollow sockets ablaze and the raven burns, too. Screaming and crying and screaming begging it to _stop and- who is crying?_

" _Hotar_ ubi!"

She lurches forward, gulping and gasping for breath as the _nothing_ vanishes. Her gut wrenches and churns; her palms slick with sweat and her chest throbbing and burning. Wide, disoriented eyes shiver as she registers he pain blooming in her palm.

She feels something trickle out of it.

"Hotarubi, are you even listening to me?"

She doesn't look. She _can't._ She'll still see it. She'll see the darkness. She'll see the _ink,_ she'll see _death._ She'll see _it_ again. _The thing that is not dead, but will forever face death._

Her eyes drift anyways. Red. It's red. The color dripping out of her skin. Fresh and _alive,_ more vivid than paint as it wells from the little crescent grooves from her nails.

She's still _alive._

 _"Hotarubi!"_ Each letter is snapped and accentuated, dragging her eyes from her blooded palms to furious, black eyes— _not a raven, not a raven,_ she chants to herself, seeing the same beady eyes still staring at her, deep, deep, and _darker—_ and a sharp pain in her ear.

It's a woman. _Mother,_ she remembers. She says something else, spilling out word after word like a nonsense chorus, all fading into the background as Hotarubi's eyes wander to assuage her fear; _disbelieving,_ at the sight of normalcy. The dark emptiness is gone. The hallways have _shadows,_ and the grooves of the floor aren't splintered and ragged as though they'd been torn. The sky is bright and clear— the maple no longer thorned, and the now well-risen sun has reverted to a heavenly glow. She sees the birds again, in the distance, hovering around a new tree.

Her heart slows from its allegro, wide eyes sobered as her mother's voice becomes clearer and more insistent; _loud._ Not raven-like at all. Smooth. Sweet. _Real._

 _But it sure felt real, didn't it?_

"—and I _told_ you that you'd need to be ready by ten! Look at you! You look hideous and-" Hotarubi's attention snaps back to her at the uncalled-for comment, but her mouth doesn't move. She doesn't trust it not to scream. "—hardly slept a wink!"

Her mother scowls, then, in the way all condescending adults tend to do. Her arm draws away from Hotarubi— the stinging was from having her ear grabbed, she realizes— to cross under her modest chest.

The woman looks a lot like Shizune, now that Hotarubi _really_ looks and sees; just longer hair, fairer, paler Uchiha skin and all the more curves to be envied. A gratifying contrast, really, that Hotarubi could grumble over when compared to her own body that resembles more of a cardboard box than anything so jaw-dropping. But complaints of unfairness are the furthest thing on her mind now— not with what she saw. Not with what she _felt._

"Oh, nevermind! You'll have to forego breakfast. Come on, we still need to get you dressed! You can eat the party snacks later."

She finds her hand wrenched up in a bruising grip, dragging her through the hallway as she stumbles to keep up. Blank, hollow horror and confusion remaining from the ordeal is cast aside by irritation. Manhandling is not something she likes, especially when coming from someone who shouldn't _have_ to wrestle her into doing something. Resisting the urge to stomp on the lady's foot and bite her wrist, she follows along with a scowl on her face. The words hit her, then, as she sees various eastern treats displayed about the counters of the kitchen. Green mochi and flashes of salmon sashimi on cheap silver platters confirm the peculiarities of the matter. A glance behind lets her eyes shift to the hallway where the illusion—

The feather is still there.

Her face drops temperature and turns a ghostly white, fear chilling her veins and disbelief from the horror of what can't possibly have been _real_ and—

 _Focus,_ she reminds herself, breathing in once she realizes that she'd stopped. _Don't panic. Deal with it later, like always. Later._

She pushes her turmoil aside— shoving the trauma and panic into a tiny, dense ball of negativity and swallowing it so that she can pop it out later and worry about _then_ and not _now._

 _A party. Party. Think of whatever awful, horrendous thing that could cause Uchiha to party._ Biased and a stereotypical view, maybe, but she needs at least a somewhat humorous thought to ground her— no matter how prejudiced it is. Her brain tosses and turns over itself in confusion, recalling the coldness of the night and possibly the date— if she ever bothered to look at a calendar at some point. Scrolling through memories brings a slow, heady feeling to her peculiarly clouded mind. Nothing to warrant a party, as far as she can recall. So she tries to think back again, recalling any and all times there happened to be something as joyous as a _party_ in the stoic Uchiha clan. Suddenly, everything clicks. Dread fills her as she feels the urge to lay on the ground and be dead once and for all.

Birthday parties are never a relaxing affair.

 ** _—The Grave of Fireflies—_**

It's truly depressing, really. Birthdays were always awkward in some way for her, even in the... well, the _Back Then._ It was almost always quarantined from her year as a day of uncomfortable attention from too many sources that don't usually care. Then there were the presents which, though left unsaid and _assured_ that an equal present of value was to be presented a the gifters' own occasion would not be necessary, were expected to be paid back in full— and more often than not, with interest added. But, there is one thing she realizes now that offsets all of the bad things about birthdays from Back Then;

Uchiha parties are way worse.

She's been stuffed in the most uncomfortable dress in her imagination. Stars, it was _enough_ that _one time_ her mother— her _real_ one—stuffed her in a peach-pink mermaid dress that had her tripping every step, but this _thing_ has topped the cake for the most detestable garb in the universe. It's undoubtedly pretty, yes, but she'd much rather appreciate it on someone else.

Kimonos are horrifying.

 _It's tight._ She rugs on the white collar, ignoring the way her sweat (weather be darned, winter or not, it is _hot_ in that thing) sticks to the cotton threads. It's a modest kimono at best; clearly not the best quality, but elegant enough to catch a wandering glance. She'd haggled and protested and received more than a few pinches (at which she bristled but kept her mouth shut— years of learned complacency kept her from biting the woman) but was eventually placated by a compromise.

 _Really,_ Hotarubi grumbles to herself. _My choice isn't all that bad._ It certainly didn't warrant the pinching thing— and if there was one thing that pisses her off, it's unnecessary violence, so calling the woman _mother_ is a bit of stretch, in her opinion. She's always been distant, anyways— and _no one_ will ever replace her mother from Back Then.

A simple, navy blue kimono is their agreed bargain. Inlaid with neon orange fireflies around the bottom, combined with a traditional Uchiha Clan crest between her shoulder blades, the red hemline and the white underdress match the Uchiha colors. It's too patriotic, in Hotarubi's opinion (too _Uchiha—_ too much of a reminder of the future), but the lightning bugs that seem to burst light bright paintball splatters ruin the purely Uchiha look. It's her own personal raspberry thrown to the clan in general for being so _Uchiha_ and, honestly, _stupid_ , but it makes her smile to herself, in the very least. Amusement is a great distraction, and she _knows_ she can't offset her panic forever, but that doesn't mean she isn't going to try.

The party started before she even knows it; the attendants come in small trickles, and with nothing but a short nod and a congratulations, they file off into their own little cliques near the snack tables. Most of the Uchiha that have already arrived are elders and decision-makers within the clan, the majority of them already retired and early for the sake of nothing else but being early.

It strikes her a bit odd that, among the early attendants, there hasn't been a single child or person aged _at least_ under sixty-five. The entire affair is already a mundane, tiring one that sucks whatever life clings on to her bones. At least seeing some variety from crass, wrinkled faces would do something to make the situation bearable. But, for now, she settles for sneaking away from her mother and discreetly bingeing at the snack table. In other words, shoving giant grilled squid pieces into her mouth when everyone isn't looking.

The clock hits three at some point, and even chewing on heavenly little pieces of the best food the sea has to offer (for all that salt-water bin is worth), when the flux hits home. Uchiha after Uchiha like into the home's cramped halls until a sea of black hair completely swamps and engulfs her. With irritation, she notes that she's a string bean compared to a lot of the Uchiha children that arrive in grosses and scores— and not by lack of nutrition, no, not with her belly full of squid. The only thought that comforts her is a sardonic _Uchiha toddlers are pudgy sausages, no matter what kind of killer they may grow up to be— or already are._

Introversion is a blessed curse, and one that is stretched to the limits in the containment in the mass of bodies.

 _Why would they even come here?_ It doesn't make sense to her, as she skirts her way past another condensed group. Nothing but greetings and occasional congratulations were sent her way, along curiously intrigued stares and hushed whispers. It reminds her of the treatment Naruto received well into her childhood— sans the hatred. Instead of gaping at her or sneering at her as if she is a monster, they point (well, they don't _point_ but, rather, give a shifty nod in her direction) and stare as one would when looking at an animal in the zoo. It's an incredibly invasive feeling, and one that leaves her feeling naked and marked for all to see. It affects the children, too; they all look at her as if she weren't _human._ Like she's a different _species._

Some _thing_ to be gazed and picked apart and prodded, gutted open and spread-eagle on an examination plate.

The thought rips a shudder through her spine, and she finds herself slinking off to the sidelines. She tries her best to avoid their gazes; as they look and whisper and speculate on something she doesn't know. She tries to find a word for it— tries to understand what exactly is going on. It isn't monsterization, nor anything similar to the hatred Naruto must have seen and felt. It's something colder than that, not so _blatant_ and honest; something lonelier, and more hollowing than having your world pierce daggers into your back.

 _Alienation._ The word slithers like a coiled viper around her skin; unwholesome and dips her blood to run cold.

To them, she realizes, she is like a dog. A young one; a stray. For some reason, she is not part of their pack— part of their _clan—_ as they separate her. Divide the lines. Like they're waiting for her to turn around and become a wolf; something _not their own._

"Hotarubi, darling!" Despair deepens at the dreadfully sweet voice. This woman- her impromptu caretaker- is _irritating,_ to speak honestly. She has no regard for what makes her uncomfortable, and is all too-willing to cross the lines. So, a jerky _What does she want now?_ is totally justified.

Hotarubi turns around with a sigh, looking towards her mother at the door, and within an instant, regretting the action entirely.

Round, onyx eyes, deeper than the night meet her irises of twin, black suns. His eyes are curious— _alive,_ unclouded by sorrow and blindness. They're innocent, mostly, and carefully calm. His face is paler than the moon and his hair is a shade lighter than soot; he'she is _not Itachi._

It couldn't be. The Itachi she's seen is tragically _pretty;_ prettier than most girls and cold, colder than most depictioned in their musings, and stoic. Borderline terrifying, to her at least. No one ever knew what was going through his head before Obito had spilled the beans. Itachi had been untouchable; _inhuman_ in both love and ability.

 _This_ is nothing but a child.

It felt unreal. Having the crest and it's name borne on her had simply rattled her— to see _Itachi Uchiha_ and have him _stare back_ at her made her freeze like a deer caught in headlights. All her breath suspends in her chest, panic and a trickle of trepidation pinprick her heart. Some part of her mind tells her—warns her— that he's still a ninja. Or going to be. Still trained to be one; still having spilt human blood on the battlefield. Having his eyes roving on her with a detached, clinical view makes her feel more naked than she's ever felt before. Like he could see every little muscle in her tiny form tense when she saw him; the _fear_ and the uncertainty in her eyes.

Paranoia tells her he can see it all.

"Hotarubi, darling, this is Fugaku-sama and Mikoto-sama." Her mother gestures to the two adults, prying Hotarubi's slow, distracted eyes onto the couple.

It's painful to see how beautiful Mikoto is, knowing just how much of that genetically-biased beauty has been passed to the boy before her. Her amiable smile does something of wonder to melt bits and pieces of Hotarubi's fear into little nothings of anxiety.

Fugaku brings that all crashing back down.

His frown is unfriendly, and the resemblance shows from Itachi's face where exactly he got that not-so-endearing quality. It's really impossible for her to tell what he's truly thinking— probably because a scowl is just his normal face.

"Congratulations on your fifth birthday, Hotarubi-chan," Fugaku bestows, and Itachi parrots with a reluctant murmur. Hotarubi feels odd by how it sounded more like 'congrats on surviving another year' rather than the usual 'oh, wow, it's your birthday! Hope you have a good day!'

Truly unsettling, but she doesn't know quite what else she'd expect from the elder Uchiha.

After thanking them, the small group grows a bit uncomfortably quiet and awkward with Hotarubi's pitiable attempts not to stare at Itachi. Thankfully, none other than Mikoto herself saves the day.

"Itachi-kun," she addresses the small boy. He looks up at her in earnest— like a puppy awaiting a command, in Hotarubi's eyes, and it results in utter flabbergasting surprise to her. It becomes clear and evident to her right then and there— _Itachi is a momma's boy._

She tries not to let her amusement show by clogging her laughter in her body, succeeding only in looking oddly reminiscent of a triggered pufferfish.

"Why don't you and Hotarubi-chan go ahead and have some fun? We adults will have our boring talk," Mikoto suggests, and her mood drops again. Itachi's as cute as a newborn puppy, but hanging out with my future killer isn't Hotarubi's idea of a good time. Hanging out with _anyone_ isn't a good time. If her disgruntlement shows on her face, none of them react to it other than Itachi whose lips thin into a fine line. It's a clear protest, in Uchiha terms, and one that Mikoto brushes off by pressing Itachi towards the younger child.

"Go on, now," Mikoto insists, and Fugaku silently reinforces her demand with a quick upturn of his chin. Hotarubi's not-quite-mother is all too enthralled to comply. Itachi's face becomes blank as he's ushered towards Hotarubi and both of them are practically kicked to the curb. With a hissed warning to Hotarubi from her mother to _get along and don't say something stupid,_ Hotarubi, stiff in every joint as she walks, leads the way through the crowd. Somewhere in her inner mind tells her that it's a horrible, stupid idea to bear her back to her killer, no matter the fact that murdering her is the last thing on his list of to-do's.

She doesn't want to turn around and see if his murdery-ness has been directed to her due to irritation.

To her chagrin, the crowd seems to shuffle to the sides as soon as they spot Itachi in her tow when they had been perfectly content to stand stock-still as conveniently placed poles when she was weaving through them earlier.

Careful not to voice her complaint for nothing else other than sheer irritation at the thought of having to deal with the publicity of a scandal (because really, what Uchiha _girl_ is ever given the right of free speech nowadays?) she lets herself mirror Fugaku's scowl

And ugly thing indeed.

She heads immediately for the garden. The thought of the weeping maple makes her pause— flashbacks of tattered feathers and red eyes searing into her vision. She shakes it off almost immediately, not noticing Itachi's eyes catching her hesitance. She doesn't need to be afraid of some silly nightmare in the garden willow... even if some feather happened to be real.

Itachi follows without complaint, instead taking in her appearance. His father had informed him they'd be attending a birthday event (and what a big surprise that had been), but he'd never told him it is for a member of their clan— a nameless child, by all rights, if not for her inheritance. It's precisely why his father has decided to attend, and while Itachi has no real interest in the girl, he's been ordered to evaluate and improve relations with her. A subject he's not particularly advanced in, but as the future head of the Uchiha Clan, he's determined for things to go well.

The first thing he noticed about her at first glance was that she is short. Very much so for a five-year old, only as tall as a child two years her junior. Her arms are lanky and she looks generally thin, lithe and birdlike in her bones. Unusual for an Uchiha child, but he supposes it's because she is certainly not a common Uchiha brood. Skin dusted cinnamon color her apart from the rest of the clan, spiked hair rolling black bangs down her eyes and shifting on the small of her back paint a portrait to the likeness of the dead clan head, Madara. Such so is a common trait among the Uchiha of his line— shared by some of his own second cousins.

Hotarubi slides open a side door to the right of the hall, little shivers sparking across their spines as the cold breeze ghosts through. Itachi notes, with some interest, that she appears extremely uncomfortable when he steps at her heels to follow; as though the not-quite closeness bothers her. Normally, girls such as the ones in the academy flock to touch him, and while they tense and sweat their nerves on the rare occasion they _do_ get shoulder-close, it's never from fear.

Not like what Hotarubi's feeling.

She eyes him even as they sit down on the grass, her shoulders tensed warily and her fingers picking at the grass with unease. It's a horrible, new experience for both of them. Itachi's never had someone afraid of him, lest he's held a fist or a kunai to them. Hotarubi's never seen the face of a murder, one that will be her own. Understandably so, for both.

And between them, silence reigns.

Minutes pass before Hotarubi scowls at her hand, having pulled up all of the grass within a five inch radius. The tension left hanging in the air has fermented and stilled, thick as butter and larger than an elephant. She spares a glance to Itachi, and is absently please that he seems to be as uncomfortable as she is. But still, a knife needs to be shoved into the metaphorical butter before she tears her hair out from anxiety, so she acts.

"So, what warrants a visit to humble old me from the head's family themselves?"

 _Stupid,_ she tells herself, inwardly smacking a fist against her skull, _utterly stupid. Couldn't you say something gee, I don't know, less skeptical and rude?_

Itachi doesn't feel offended, however, but relieved to have the silence shattered. "Your father as of the Kurama Clan," Itachi says, and Hotarubi's eyes snap to him. "And have been allowed integration into our clan by the Kurama. My father finds it appropriate to properly congratulate you on you first year with us."

Memories and categories whiz by in her mind, pushing through files of seemingly endless knowledge and coming up with nothing but the identity of the Kyuubi. Panic flits across her skin for a fleeting moment, wondering if her existence caused the creation of a new clan- however impossible it may seem, it's all she can come with in the face of this new information. Though, perhaps, the particular clan in question had appeared in a filler episode— the stars had known how confused she was when a talking ostrich that supposedly knew Naruto popped up in Shippuden— that she hadn't watched, seeing as to her clear aversion of them might have cause her to miss out on the introduction. From the sounds of it, the Kurama Clan must be an important clan, enough so to warrant a visit from the Uchiha head, but not nearly as prominent as, say, the Yamanaka or the Aburame. She doubts any clan worth their Yen would let a child of their own cross-breed and be integrated in a clan not of their own. She'll have to search more about it in the future, then. Provided that she even has a future to work with. _Perhaps I should have watched the fillers with her when she asked._

Deep regret sinks its teeth into her heart at the thought of her littlest sister, the little pestilence that she was, and the joy she brought who Hotarubi had once been. She deserved a better sister than Hotarubi had been.

 _Look away._

She shifts her eyes down to the deep, almost blue grass curled and oozing between her fingers. Tiny scratches itch on her palm from cuts of the grass blades, and she revels in the small bit of retribution the pain brings her for what she regrets.

Silence pervades, and Hotarubi decides that she's tired of it. Two introverts alone in a room, forcibly stuck together, and with absolutely nothing to talk about doesn't paint a pretty picture.

"What's your favorite color?"

Itachi looks at her, incredulous.

"Might as well attempt to have a conversation," she explains, refusing to look into his eyes. "Or else the silence wins." The silence wins. She dealt with silence for a very long time in the Void, that absolute nothingness she despises. She won't let the silence come back. She won't let it win; not while she can help it. If it means talking with Itachi Uchiha, then so be it. It's better than the silence. It reminds her of the raven-bird, of the black feather in the hall.

"I fail to see how my color preferences will help keep this 'silence' winning," Itachi was says after a long, long moment, and Hotarubi shakes her thoughts from her head with her annoyance at his response. It's true that she was being vague, but it still doesn't deserve that pathetic response.

"That doesn't matter. Just tell me your favorite color." Hotarubi glares lightly at the Uchiha heir, as blank-faced as ever. He raises a dainty eyebrow at her, his own face frowning at her. "I refuse."

Her lip juts out in a scowling pout to her unknowing as she refrains from batting him on the head. Typically, she's not very violent, but an unknown eternity in the Void and isolated childhood have brought her to the fringes of homicide. He doesn't need to be so _difficult._

"That's not how friendship works," she snarls, and Itachi's irritatingly long lashes blink at the word 'friendship.'

"You've gotta tell each other the deep stuff."

She pulled a quote card, but doesn't bother to care since he'll probably never understand it anyways. Itachi Uchiha's face contorts into a peculiar shape. Uchiha are awkward, unemotional creatures (minus the rarest, happier Uchiha) and thus, don't quite register facial expressions very well. If she has any word to describe it, it would be constipated.

"A friendship would indeed be beneficial to the clan," Itachi relents after a minute of not-very-threatening Hotarubi scowls. "Though I still fail to see why information on my favorite color would be-"

Mildly irritated, she flicks her wrist, scattering little, green remains of the plucked grass in the air. "You don't need a _reason_ to tell me your favorite color." Hotarubi says, her hands tearing and scratching at whatever is alive under their skin. Itachi doesn't respond.

Having given up, Hotarubi sighs and curls her knees up to her chest, placing her eye sockets on her patellas despite the discomfort. Speaking was tiring, in front of another— well, in front of _Itachi._ It's like having a conversation with a rock. A small, homicidal, murdery rock. Pointless, degrading, and stupid.

She feels his eyes on her, but she doesn't bother to look up and glare. It's too _tiring._ Some days are easier to deal with than others.

Today is not one of those days.

"So, this is where you are." A bright, cheery voice erupts from behind. Hotarubi very near jumps out of her skin, her heart jumping in her ears when she swivels around. Their eyes snap together, and her breath catches in her throat. Onyx eyes twinkle beside a roguish smile, wild hair tossed about on his head and sun-skirted skin pertain his visage. She feels the flesh of her face, neck, and ears flood with warmth on their own accord, but with a _hell no_ she shoves it down. _Shisui Uchiha_ stands before her in all of his eyeful glory, dressed in the casual navy and khaki uniform of the clan. If Itachi is ethereal, Shisui is devilish. His entire face screams _'I'm trouble! Watch out for me or I'll catch you with your pants down!'_

She doesn't know what to make of it.

"Who'd 'ave thought you two would be out here? I thought toddlers weren't supposed to be isolationists." Shisui makes himself right at home wedged between the two, plunking down on the pillow of torn grass. Itachi gives an indignant frown to the newcomer, the only actual sign of indignation, really, being a twitch of his lips. Uchiha aren't exactly the most emotionally expressionistic creatures. "I'm not a toddler," Itachi protests, downright _pouting_ in Uchiha terms. "Well, then short-stack certainly is. That's what this whole gig's about, right? About the little rugrat graduating from the diaper years." Shisui's elbow pokes her curled side, making her jump from shock at the surprising ticklishness. She was never ticklish in the Before.

"I haven't used diapers for as long as you've had a fat nose to accompany your fancy words, alphabet-boy." She murmurs, only half meaning it. The banter and the insults came naturally, but that's exactly what she's worried about. Isn't she supposed to still be freaking out? Having a panic, or, hell, even a fangirl attack? Is her unfazedness _normal?_ What standard is there to measure 'normal' for this situation?

Shisui and Itachi blink at her. _"She speaks,"_ Shisui gawks openly, the corners of his mouth turned in a wicked smile. She shouldn't take the bait. She shouldn't be irritated by a _child._ She should still be reeling. She should just keep quiet, and walk away, keep her distance, and wait for The Day. She should-

She chucks a pebble at his forehead.

She aims it like rapid-fire, making Shisui squawk and dive down to dodge as it blazes past him, aimed directly at Itachi. She slowly opens her eyes as Shisui gingerly sits back up, eyes wide in shock and disbelief of the event as they lock onto Itachi's fallen frame.

He sports a large welt on his forehead, and pure killing intent in his eyes. They bleed sharingan red, blazing and _angry._ "I give you five seconds to run," he omits. Still shocked at the speed and force she'd hit him with because _what the heck was that_ and a twinge of fear, she doesn't notice Shisui's curse or bark of laughter before he grips her arm and tugs her to her feet. "Now you've done it, kiddo!" Shisui howls as his feet thunder on the creaky floorboards as Hotarubi scrambles to keep up, ignoring the pinching on her forearm and _why do people like grabbing her arm._ "Wha-what?! Wait, slow down! Do you even know where you're going?!" She 'eeps' when her makes a right turn, lunged into the air for half a second before being tugged to stars-know-where again.

"Nope!" He chirps, his eyes wild and excited when he looks back to her, even as Itachi's malevolent prescence blazes in the background. "But that's just part of the fun, isn't it?"

* * *

 **HA HA.**

 **AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA! I FINALLY MADE IT.**

 **HA.**

 **SO.**

 **I WAS LAZY WHEN I MADE THIS IN THE BEGINNING, AND IT WAS TOTALLY RUSHED, SO BE PREPARED FOR MUCH MORE CONTENT IN THIS REMAKE!**

AS ALWAYS. _PLEASE **RATE AND REVIEW.**_

 _ **CHIAO!**_


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